Reality Is Wrong
by Ezika
Summary: Now finished. What happens after The Dark?
1. Reality is wrong

Reality Is Wrong

****

A/N – Welcome to my new fic, hope you like it, it's a little weird :-S Anyway, half the fun is finding out stuff along the way, so I won't give too much background. All you need to know is Monica and Chandler were married, but now they're divorced and she's remarried. I don't own the characters, although Courteney Cox Arquette is in my closet ;-) This is dedicated to DMG for all her help and cause she's just a cool ickle monkey and my first ever wife :-)

_* * * * * *_

_Reality is wrong, dreams are for real._

But reality is the world we are trapped in. Dreams are an escape, but they do not linger. In the end, dreams must give way to reality forcing its way in.

But Pete Becker had found a way to keep dreams alive. He had found a way to let people live out their dreams. He had found a way to let people live in their dreams. To live in their dreams and never escape. 

Pete Becker was an urban legend. His company, Caspian, was another urban legend. The Dark, the place people went when they had nowhere else to go, nowhere but their dreams to retreat to, no sanctuary other than the one they could create themselves, that was the biggest urban legend of all. 

*~*~*~*~*

Away from the myths and legends of 21st Century Manhattan, Monica Castell tossed and turned in the grip of a nightmare. Her body was soaked in a cold sweat, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her hands clenched into fists, her expression one of pain and fear. Her body arched in a vain attempt to escape, and she cried out like a child for its mother.

"Shhh, its ok baby, its ok," a voice broke through, bringing a tiny fragment of sanity for her to cling to in her terror. Monica reached out and felt strong arms wrap around her and hold her as she woke up. She sobbed against her husband's shoulder, gripping him tightly, afraid that if she let go she would sink back into the nightmare. Michael Castell held his sobbing wife close, rocking her gently and whispering little meaningless words of comfort into her hair. Eventually, her tears trailed away until all Michael could hear were muffled little snuffles against his chest. He laid her gently back down onto the bed so they could both go back to sleep. Monica's arms lingered around his neck and pulled him down so he could kiss her goodnight. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Michael kissed her lips tenderly. 

"Its ok, I'm sorry you have to go through it," he told her, dropping one last kiss onto her forehead before he moved over to his side of the bed. He glanced at the clock and sighed inwardly; he had to be up again in just a few short hours. He never would have admitted it, but he resented the nights when Monica had her nightmares and woke him and needed him to sit with her until she calmed down. She knew he was tired, and needed sleep, but she couldn't resist rolling over to his side of the bed and draping her arm over his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. His arm went around her back in sleepy response and she felt soothed. 

Michael's snores soon punctuated the darkness in their bedroom, but Monica was still awake. She grew stiff from lying so long in the same position, but didn't dare move in case she woke her husband. She already felt guilty for waking him earlier. When Michael's alarm clock went off at 6 AM she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep so he wouldn't worry about her insomnia. He gently slid her over to her side of the bed, and kissed her cheek. She kept up the pretence while he shuffled around the apartment, showering, getting dressed, eating breakfast. He was considerate enough to leave the bedroom light switched off, although she almost laughed aloud when this caused him to stub his toe and swear loudly. 

Only when she heard the front door slam shut and the apartment had been silent for several minutes, did Monica get out of bed. She went to the bathroom and reached up into the medicine cabinet for the sleeping tablets her doctor had prescribed her. She took two out of the foil packet and swallowed them dry, scrunching her face up in disgust. As she put the rest of the tablets away, she noticed that her face in the mirror was disturbingly pale, with dark violet shadows under her eyes. Monica sighed. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good nights sleep naturally. Michael disapproved of her taking sleeping tablets, which was why she'd waited till he'd gone to work. 

Monica didn't wake up again till mid-afternoon, and when she did she felt groggy and her limbs were heavy. She peeled back the duvet and got out of bed to open the curtains, hoping the light would make her feel better. The pale winter sunlight had little effect other than to make her squint. Monica turned away from the window and without thinking, made the bed. 

She spent the rest of the day doing housework. Monica had given up her job two years ago, with no explanation to Michael other than that she wanted to be a housewife and stay at home with the kids they expected to have soon. They had tried for over a year to get pregnant and nothing had happened. Michael knew how much Monica wanted children and had paid for artificial insemination. She had gotten pregnant but had lost the baby when she was 8 weeks pregnant. After that Monica had refused to try any more, and Michael hadn't pressured her, convinced she would change her mind. Nine months later that still hadn't happened.

Michael came home at 6:30 as usual, and found Monica in the middle of making dinner. He kissed the top of her head and asked if there was anything he could do to help.

"If you would set the table, dinner should be ready in fifteen minutes, we're having lasagne," she told him.

"Sounds great," he said, moving to do as she asked. 

While they ate, Michael amused her with a story about a guy at work who had sat through the whole of a two-hour meeting with his shirt buttoned wrong and his flies open. Monica's smile was fake, and he could tell instantly.

"Mon, are you ok?" 

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I'm just tired."

"Did you take your pills last night?" he asked with a frown. Monica sighed, but didn't bother lying; she knew he would know anyway.

"Yes."

"Oh Monica," he sighed. 

"I'm sorry."

"Oh darling, don't be sorry," he told her, "I just wish you didn't need them that's all." Monica said nothing. 

Several hours later, Monica took a shower and emerged wearing only a white fluffy towel. Michael was sat on the couch watching TV, but as soon as he saw Monica walk through into the bedroom, he switched it off and jumped up to follow her. Monica stiffened as she heard her husband enter the bedroom behind her. Michael touched her bare shoulders gently and leaned forward to kiss her neck. Monica closed her eyes and let him touch her. His hands started to move down to her breasts, which he stroked lightly through her towel.

"Its been ages," he whispered. Monica nodded. She knew perfectly well they hadn't had sex for two months now. 

"Mike, I'm so tired, maybe tomorrow," she said, forcing herself to move out of his arms. He groaned in frustration.

"Really tomorrow or is this one of those things you say to shut me up when you don't mean it?" he asked angrily.

"Don't shout," she begged.

"I'm not shouting!" he said, then realised he was. "Ok, I'm sorry, but Monica, I'm sick and tired of you pushing me away all the damn time!" 

"Mike, I promise you we can do it tomorrow, but please not tonight," she said, closing her eyes to block out his hurt expression.

"Why? What will be different tomorrow?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"You make it so hard for me," he told her.

"I know, I'm sorry Mike, really," she whispered, blinking hard and biting her lip to try and stop the tears falling down her cheeks.

"What do you want Monica? You don't want me to touch you; do you not want me in your life anymore? Do you want a divorce? What Monica? What do you want?" he demanded, clenching his hands into fists to stop himself grabbing her and shaking her. He loved her so much, and had always believed she loved him just as much, so why was she being so difficult? He understood she hadn't had an easy time the past year, but he only wanted to be there for her, why couldn't she let him in?

"No! Mike, I don't want to lose you!" she insisted, looking so panicked at the thought that he couldn't help believing her.

"Then what?" 

"I don't know," she said sadly. "Look, we can have sex if you want, I'm sorry, I know it's been a long time."

"No Mon, I don't want us to just have sex. I couldn't anyway, not knowing you don't really want to." She frowned at him, confused.

"Tomorrow," she promised. Michael looked at her sadly, knowing she was just trying to make him feel better, that nothing would be any different tomorrow, but appreciating that she was making the effort. He kissed her chastely on the lips, and hugged her.

"If you want," he said casually, "but its ok if you don't, really."

"Thank you," she answered, kissing him lovingly. Michael did not put his arms around her, he was very aware that she was wearing only a towel, and hoped she wasn't aware of how much that turned him on. 

"I'll leave you to get dressed," he said, pulling back. Monica nodded.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed now," she told him. 

"I'll try not to wake you when I come in then."

She shot him a look that said she didn't expect to be asleep anyway, so he smiled encouragingly at her, patted her hair, and then left the room. Monica sighed as she put on her cotton pjs and brushed her hair. She was determined that she wouldn't let Michael down again tomorrow night, that she would not simply let him fuck her, she would make love with him, like she used to do. She couldn't remember when exactly things had changed, and she didn't know how to be the person she once was. 

The next night, Monica was resolved to keep her promise. Michael hadn't mentioned it, but she knew he would be thinking about it. She snuggled up to him on the couch, and put her hand on his leg, sliding towards his crotch. He turned to her grinning and held her head in his hands while he kissed her passionately.

"You don't have to you know Mon," he told her, but he was looking at her so desperately that any doubts she might have had were eased. He was her husband. He was so good to her, so sweet to her; he deserved more of a wife than she had been lately.

"I want to," she said. "I do." 

Michael wasn't sure whether or not he should believe her, but he needed her now, and if she was lying to make him happy, then he wasn't going to object. Monica pulled him down to kiss him and that was all the convincing he needed. 

The following morning, it was the same as always. Monica hadn't slept more than a couple of hours, but she woke up at the same time as Michael, partly because of his alarm clock going off, but mostly because instead of letting her sleep on as he usually did, Michael was pushing her nightie off insistently reaching for her breasts. She let him do what he wanted, before he got up to shower and get ready for work, but didn't participate with anything like the enthusiasm she'd had last night. 

When he had gone to work, Monica stayed in bed, lying flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She sighed deeply, then got out of bed slowly. By giving in to Michael and her own long-repressed desires, had she consented to giving him sex whenever he wanted? The realisation that she didn't much care either way only depressed her more. 

Michael came home early that day, and offered to make them both an early dinner, and she smilingly accepted. Monica was half watching the daytime soap operas; she didn't care about any of the soaps, except one, Days of Our Lives. She smiled as the familiar music came on, and the noise of Michael clumsily banging around in the kitchen faded into insignificance. Michael smiled when he glanced over and saw her transfixed expression, assuming she was lost in the pathetic plot. She wasn't. She was lost in memories of her old friends. Joey Tribianni, aka. Dr Drake Ramoray was a big star on the show now, and Monica was grateful for this tiny contact with her old life.

When the show was over, she made her way into the kitchen to help Michael. Since he refused her help, she sat at the table and chatted while he cooked. It made a nice change to be the one relaxing while he cooked for her. It was only a simple meal, Michael's culinary skills couldn't compare to Monica's, but she appreciated the effort. 

"Ok, it just needs to simmer for about 10 minutes, I'll set the table, why don't you go put on a nice dress?" Michael suggested. Monica looked down at her ratty jeans and long sleeved t-shirt and blushed. When Joey and the others had known her, they would have been concerned that she wasn't as together looking as they were used to, but **this** was what Michael had gotten used to. 

Coming out of the bedroom ten minutes later, Monica was wearing smart black pants and a red top that was cut lower than anything Michael had seen her in for a long time. He grinned as she sat down, slightly self-consciously at the table. He had set it with candles and their best china. 

"What's the occasion?" she asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

"Why does there have to be an occasion?"

Monica didn't answer. She knew what the occasion was, and she thought she knew how the rest of the evening would go. He was celebrating that their marriage seemed to be back on track. Whether this was temporary or lasting he didn't know, but was willing to be optimistic. Monica was more sceptical.

It turned out she was wrong about her expectations of the evening. Michael drove them to the video store and let her pick a movie to rent. She picked a horror movie, then regretted it as soon as they started watching it because she got scared and clung to Michael, and although his arm around her was comfortable and soothing, she didn't want to give him ideas. But when the movie finished, Michael merely kissed her cheek and asked if she wanted to watch another movie or go to bed. His voice didn't seem to be implying anything else with 'go to be', but Monica went for another movie anyway. When that one was over too, Michael said he was gonna go to bed, he looked at Monica, silently asking her to join him.

"I think I'm gonna stay and watch the news, I won't be long," she told him. Michael nodded, sadness passing over his face for only a second, then he smiled and kissed her cheek. 

"I'll probably be asleep when you come in, so I'll say goodnight now."

"Night sweetie."

When Michael woke up the next morning, he jumped up to switch the alarm clock off before it woke Monica, then he glanced at the bed where she should have been, but it was flat. Shrugging, he supposed she could have gotten up to go to the bathroom, or she could even have fallen asleep in front of the TV. But when he got out into the living room, Monica was sat wide-awake, exactly where he'd left her last night. He walked over to her, concerned.

"Mon, sweetie, you ok?" She blinked at him, startled.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?" 

"Yes, of course."

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

Monica scrunched her nose in thought. "No, I don't think so."

"Why don't you take one of your pills and go to bed when I've gone out? Or I can stay home if you want me to," Michael offered. He was very worried. He was used to his wife surviving on just a few hours of sleep a night for weeks or even months at a time. But she'd always managed **some** sleep. 

"I'm fine Mike! I don't need pills and I definitely don't need you at home getting under my feet all day," she snapped.

"Alright!" he said, backing away, hands raised giving way. He was a little hurt, but put her bad mood down to exhaustion. "Alright, but call me if you need to, and do try and get some sleep."

Monica shook her head firmly. "If I sleep all day I'll have even less chance of sleeping tonight."

"Ok, well take it easy Mon."

Her face relaxed into a smile. "I will, I'm sorry sweetie." 

She stayed frozen in front of the TV, staring blankly at the news without hearing or seeing it, while Michael got ready for work. He kept looking over at her worriedly, but she gave no sign that she was aware of him looking at her. 

"I'm gonna leave now," he told her. 

"'Kay," she muttered.

"I should be back by six thirty, I'll try and leave earlier if I can."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"If you like."

Michael gave her a strange look. She seemed so detached this morning. Once again, he blamed her lack of sleep and told himself not to worry; she'd probably sleep better tonight.

But she didn't. Monica once again spent the night wide-awake in a chair in the living room. Michael slept peacefully in the bedroom, unaware of his wife's silent torment. Monica didn't bother leaving the TV on this time. She sat in the same chair as the night before. Her body felt heavier than she would have believed possible. She was exhausted and desperate for sleep. But she didn't have the usual feeling of her eyes sinking closed on their own, they stayed determinedly open. She had tried quiet music to lull her to sleep, she'd turned the light out, and she'd even crept into the bedroom and spent an hour there next to Michael, who annoyed her with his effortless ability to sleep normally. Then she ended up back in the living room with the light on, because it made no difference and sitting alone in the dark made her feel like she belonged in a horror movie or something. 

In the morning, she was still there when Michael came in. She was expecting his arrival because she'd heard the beep of the alarm clock a few minutes earlier. Michael looked at her with pity. Monica stared at him, wishing he could grant her even just a few minutes of sleep. 

"Oh Mon," he said softly, crouching on the floor in front of her and taking her hands in his. They were freezing, despite the relatively warm apartment, so he rubbed them gently. "Are you ok?" 

"I'm so tired Mike."

"I know baby, I know. Did you try taking your pills?" Monica didn't answer. She hadn't, because she'd got the feeling they wouldn't help her. He correctly assumed her silence meant no. "Why don't you try one tonight Mon? It won't do any harm and it might help." She stayed silent, staring at him blankly. Didn't he understand? 

When Michael had gone to work, Monica forced herself to get out of her chair, shower and eat breakfast. She moved slowly, as if the air had suddenly become almost solid. Her head ached, her eyes ached, her neck and shoulders ached from sitting up all night, and even her stomach ached with period pains. 

Michael came home an hour earlier than usual, he was worried about Monica, and wanted to start a hopefully relaxing weekend a little early. He was determined to pamper her and not make her cook or clean or do anything all weekend, and hopefully she'd be able to get some sleep. If she went another night or two without sleep, he would insist she let him take her to a doctor; it couldn't be healthy for her. He smiled when he got into the apartment and saw Monica slumped over a magazine at the kitchen table, seemingly fast asleep. He shut the door as quietly as possible and tried to figure out if he should risk waking her up by moving her into their bedroom. 

"Michael?" 

Too late, she was awake already. 

"Sorry baby, I didn't mean to wake you," he apologised, sitting at the table next to her and rubbing her back gently.

"I wasn't asleep. I can't sleep," she said desolately. "I can barely hold my head up I'm so tired, but my eyes won't stay closed. Even when I close my eyes, my mind keeps racing, it won't shut down, it won't let me sleep Mike." She started to cry. Mike was a little scared, he hated to see Monica cry, especially when there was nothing he could do about it. He slid off his chair and onto the floor next to her, pulling her gently onto his lap where he cradled her head against his shoulder. 

"Did you try taking a pill?" he asked.

"I took six. **Six**," she told him miserably.

"Monica! That's three times the normal dose!" he said shocked, panicking about how long ago she'd taken them and whether he should call an ambulance or something.

"Doesn't matter, they didn't work anyway."

"Mon, promise me you won't do that again! Don't take more than two at a time," he pleaded, fixating on the one thing he could make sense of. She nodded.

"Doesn't make a difference if I take two or twenty." She sounded more depressed than Michael had ever heard her. He privately thought that the difference between two and twenty pills could be that twenty would kill her, but he didn't share this thought with his wife.

"Mon, I'm gonna take you to the doctors, maybe he can prescribe you some different pills or something. I'll call the surgery now, we might even be able to go tonight." He started to slide her off his lap, but she put her arms around his neck and refused to move.

"Nothing is gonna help Mike, I know its not."

"Then what? Are you just never gonna sleep again?" 

"I guess I just have to ride it out. You know how sometimes it gets better and then it gets worse," she shrugged. She felt calmer and less desperate in Michael's arms. 

"Its never been **this** bad before though," he argued, stroking her hair. Monica didn't answer.

Over the next week, Monica still didn't sleep, and Michael grew increasingly worried about her. She was too tired to do anything most of the time, and would just sit with her head on his shoulder in the evenings while he watched TV and held her close. He tried persuading her to come to bed to rest even if she couldn't sleep, but she was always reluctant. One night Michael was woken up feeling suddenly cold. He groped around him in the dark and found he was missing the blankets. Switching on the lamp next to his bed, he realised they hadn't fallen on the floor; Monica had followed him into bed and was curled up on the edge of the bed clutching the whole double size blanket around her. 

"Mon? Sweetie?" Michael said, touching her shoulder gently. "Can I get a little of the covers please?"

"Sorry, yeah," she said unwrapping them from around herself. She straightened it out almost evenly on the bed, but Michael noticed she was shivering violently.

"Come here," he invited, opening his arms. She looked at him warily, but a raised eyebrow assured her he wasn't coming on to her, so she complied. Michael switched of the light and lay back down, with Monica snuggled safely in his arms. Her bare arms felt like ice, so he rubbed them gently. "You been outside or something?" he asked, kissing her neck softly. She shook her head and moved away slightly from his kisses. Michael drew her closer again but did not kiss her again. When she had stopped trembling from the cold, Michael let himself fall asleep. 

When he woke up again in the morning, Monica was gone. He found her on the balcony, and cursed loudly; what the hell was she doing? He ran out in his sweat pants and t-shirt to bring her in. It was only drizzling, but Monica was soaking, either it had been raining harder earlier or she had been out here for a long time. She was only wearing her nightie and she was barefoot. Michael grabbed her arms to take her inside, but she screamed at his touch and struggled to be free of him. 

"Monica! It's me! Mon get inside **now!**" he shouted at her. 

"Get the hell away from me!" she screamed, spinning around to face him. Michael was suddenly afraid that she was going to jump. Her face was white and gaunt, there were dark, dark shadows underneath her eyes, and her beautiful dark hair was thin and straggly. Michael made another attempt to grab her, but she slapped him as hard as she could. He staggered back, his hand on his cheek where her cold fingers had left a red, stinging mark. She sound of the slap jolted Monica back to reality, and she stepped towards Michael, her eyes wide. He saw her fear and hugged her hard. 

"Come on baby, come inside," he said. She nodded against his chest and let him lead her inside. "I'm taking today off work," he said as soon as they were in the apartment. He left her standing alone in the living room while he went to the bedroom to fetch a blanket and dry clothes for her. "I'll call in sick while you change."

"You don't have to," she said, not taking the clothes.

"Yes, I do have to. I'm taking you to see a doctor." He shoved the clothes at her and went to phone, before she could protest. Monica stared at his back for a few seconds, and then went slowly into the bedroom to change. She came back wearing jeans that were too big for her and a sweatshirt belonging to Michael. She hadn't even attempted to do anything about her hair. 

"I don't want to see a doctor," she said quietly when she saw Michael wasn't on the phone.

"I know you don't sweetheart," he said patiently, "but you need to."

"No, I don't," she said, struggling to sound as calm as her husband. Michael sighed. Monica was as stubborn as ever when she wanted to be, and he knew it was pointless arguing with her.

"Well when you go, if the doctor agrees with you, that's fine, we'll come home again and you can stay awake for the rest of your life if you want to," he said irritably. "But you're going."

"No," she insisted.

"You have an appointment at 3:30 tomorrow."

"I'm not going."

"Its not a shrink, if that's what you're afraid of," Michael said softly.

"I'm not afraid at all," she said firmly.

He saw his way to persuade her to go and went for it, playing up to her competitive nature. "Yes you are, you're afraid the doctor will end your pretence that this is all perfectly normal, and you won't be able to go on like nothing's wrong anymore."

"Shut up," she said shrilly. "Just shut the fuck up!" She ran at Michael and started to hit him with ineffectual fists. Michael stopped her easily, and she wrestled out of his grip and stormed into the bedroom. He decided it was best to let her sulk on her own, and didn't follow her. 

Monica did go to the doctors as Michael wanted, but sat silently while Michael explained to the doctor that his wife hadn't slept in over a week. She let the doctor examine her and did everything he asked her to, and didn't even flinch from the pain as he took a blood sample. 

"We're just going to run some routine tests, make sure there's nothing physical causing your insomnia," the doctor explained. "I understand you already have a prescription for some sleeping pills?" 

"Yes she does, but she says they don't work anymore," Michael said, realising Monica wasn't going to volunteer anything.

"But they worked until recently?" the doctor queried.

"I think so," Michael said. The doctor looked to Monica for confirmation, so she nodded.

"Well I'll give you a prescription for some slightly different ones for now, if you come back and see me again in a week I should have the results of these tests back and be able to tell you more," he said.

"Thank you," Michael said, taking Monica's hand to help her stand. She didn't bother to thank the doctor, Michael pinched her arm to remind her to be polite, but it made her feel like a naughty child, and she jerked away.

That night Monica took two of her new pills and went to bed at the same time as Michael. She fell asleep almost straight away, and Michael smiled as he heard he deep, regular breaths and sensed that she wasn't faking it. He drifted off himself, and his final thought before he slept was that Monica's body was warmer than it had been for a long time. He was woken up barely an hour later by the sound of screaming. He groaned, recognising the signs of one of Monica's nightmares even before he opened his eyes. But he had to admit he was grateful she was sleeping, even if she was having bad dreams. She kicked him in her sleep, and seconds later, her arm swung down and smacked against his chin. Michael wriggled out of bed away from her and switched on the light. Monica had tears pouring down her cheeks, she was thrashing around in bed and screaming in pure terror. It was the worst he'd ever seen her, and Michael felt her fear clench him as well. He hurried round to Monica's side of the bed, tripped over the covers where they had fallen in a tangled mess to the floor, and leaned over her to shake her awake. He was momentarily scared by how light she was, then that thought was gone as she screamed louder than ever and lashed out blindly at him. Monica's fingernails scratched down his face, clawing at him until he dropped her back down onto the bed. Michael looked at her, he was so worried for her, he couldn't bear to leave her to fight her nightmare alone. 

"Monica! Monica please wake up!" he said loudly, tentatively reaching to touch her again.

"Don't touch me! Get off me!" she shrieked.

"Mon! Mon, its me, Mike, Monica!" he pleaded.

Suddenly she lay still. Her eyes slowly opened and she looked at him, seeing his concerned, familiar face, with no desire whatsoever to harm her. Monica's breathing was still ragged, but she had stopped screaming. Michael loooked relieved, as he slowly sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. She sat up and leaned into his arms sobbing.

"Oh God Mike," she said in a strange voice.

"What were you dreaming?" he asked, rocking her gently back and forth and rubbing her back while she cried.

"Ugh, it was awful," she said, shuddering even as she thought about it. 

"Shhh, its ok, its ok, you don't have to tell me," he said, feeling her fear. 

"Don't leave me," she begged, looking at him with frightened eyes.

"I won't baby, I promise," he assured her, pulling her head back onto his chest. 

Michael sat holding her until she fell asleep again. He was a little afraid she'd have more nightmares, but if she was scared too, she didn't show it; she was asleep within minutes. Unfortunately, Michael's fear proved to be true. He had been dozing lightly when he heard Monica whimpering and pushing against him. He held her tight, hoping to sooth her back into happier dreams, but it didn't work, if anything it made her more afraid. He released her gently, and she lay shaking and crying quietly, but he didn't want it to get as bad as the last one, so he shook her shoulders gently to wake her up. Monica woke up with a yell, but she seemed relieved to see Michael, and reached up to pull him down to hug her. 

"Oh Mon," he said sympathetically. 

"I don't wanna go back there," she said, her voice shaking. 

"Go back where baby?" She didn't answer, only clung onto him desperately, as though she was drowning and he was her only hope of getting out alive. 

It was a cycle of sleep, nightmares and being woken up by Michael, which tormented Monica all night. By the next morning, they had decided without discussion that she should not take any more sleeping pills. Michael was exhausted the next day, and was grateful it was a Saturday and he didn't have to work. 

The following night, Monica managed a few hours of sleep without the help of the sleeping pills, and only woke once with a nightmare and Michael soon managed to sooth her back to sleep. On Sunday night, they made love before they both fell asleep. Monica still woke early but she no longer had the all-consuming exhaustion she'd had when she wasn't sleeping at all. During the rest of the week she continued to sleep for a few hours a night, often having nightmares. On Friday Michael took her back to the doctors for the results of the blood tests. After answering some questions about how she'd been sleeping for the last week, Monica was told her blood tests had all come back as normal. The doctor apologised but said there was nothing he could do if there was nothing physically wrong with her. 

Over the next two months Monica had two or three hours sleep each night. Michael continued to worry about her, but so long as she was getting **some** sleep, he figured she'd be ok. But she had grown prickly, she didn't like him touching her, they'd gone back to not having sex, Monica had even moved into the spare bedroom because she claimed Michael's snoring disturbed her, and she avoided being drawn into conversation with him as much as possible. Michael didn't know what was wrong with her, only that she still had nightmares, because he heard her screams through the wall separating their bedrooms. But the few times he tried to go to her and calm her, she pushed him away, and she eventually got a lock fitted to keep him out of what had become her bedroom. He missed her. 

Michael came home one Friday night to an empty apartment. Which was weird; Monica never went out! He shrugged and figured she was a grown woman and was perfectly able to go out alone. He ate his dinner of frozen pizza alone, and watched some TV. By 8:30, when Monica still wasn't home, he was worried. He wondered if she'd gone to run some errands and something had happened to her. The thought that she had run away or was with another man crossed his mind only briefly; Monica wasn't the type. 

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded when she finally came home at a quarter past eleven. 

"Out," she mumbled, heading for the bathroom. Michael got up and grabbed her wrist before she got halfway there.

"Mon, what's going on?"

"Nothing, I was just out," she said evasively. Michael noticed she looked pale and shaken, and that she wasn't even struggling to free her wrist.

"What's wrong baby? You can tell me, you know you can," he said.

"I can't!" 

"Why? What is it Monica?" 

"Nothing!" 

"So you can't tell me 'nothing'?"

"Mike, please just drop it, I'll tell you when I'm ready."

"So you **can** tell me, you just don't want to!"

"I said drop it!"

"No! Monica!" Michael twisted her wrist round in frustration. She yelped in pain, and looked at him as if she couldn't quite believe what he was doing. Michael was hurting her? Not hurting her much, but he was deliberately hurting her! The same sweet, kind Michael who'd sat up with her when she had nightmares she couldn't tell him about. Had he changed so much since she'd gone into the spare bedroom?

"Michael, stop it!" she said, frightened. He released her suddenly, and looked at her, as shocked as she was. 

"Mon, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I've just been so worried about you, that's all," he excused himself.

"You hurt me!" Monica said, holding her wrist.

"Oh come on, I bet you don't even have a bruise!" he scoffed, but he wasn't as sure of himself as he sounded, and they both knew it.

"Cause **that's** what the issue is here," she said sarcastically.

"Shut up Mon, you know I would never hurt you."

"No, I don't," she said quietly. Michael looked at her sharply.

"Mon, I mean it," he said, worried. "I'm sorry I hurt you, I lost my temper, I was worried about you that's all. It won't happen again, I promise."

"Leave me alone," she said, pushing past him suddenly and heading for the bathroom again. 

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, sounding like he was more afraid than she was. 

Monica didn't answer; she just went into the bathroom and slammed the door. Michael punched the nearest wall in frustration. Monica went straight to bed after she came out of the bathroom, without saying another word to Michael. He didn't even bother trying her bedroom door handle; he knew she would have locked it. He went to bed himself shortly afterwards, seeing no point in staying up watching TV alone. He hated the thought of Monica lying alone and sleepless in her bed, but all he could do was tell himself he couldn't help her, and even if he could, she didn't want his help anyway.

At two am, Michael woke up suddenly, and blinked into the darkness of his bedroom, unsure what had woken him. Monica's nightmares rarely made her scream loud enough for him to hear when he was deeply asleep as he had been just now. He sat up and listened. He heard an anguished scream coming from Monica's room. Michael was out of bed and running towards her door before he'd even considered how he'd help her from the other side of a locked door.

"Monica!" he shouted, banging on the door and rattling the door handle. "Monica!" If she heard him, he couldn't tell, her screams were getting louder if anything. He heard something crash into a wall and wondered what she'd managed to throw across the room. He started to panic and threw his weight against the door to try and force it open. A few more times and the lock gave way and the door flew open. Monica lay on the bed, the blanket had completely fallen off onto the floor and her nightie had worked its way up so that instead of being past her knees, it barely even covered her breasts. Her back was arched against whatever terror she was imagining and her arms covered her face, trying to defend herself. Michael rushed over to try and wake her and comfort her, knowing that she would forgive him for the fright he'd given her earlier, forgive him for barging into her bedroom, forgive him anything if he could make it stop now. But his foot caught in what he later realised was her bra, which she had uncharacteristically left lying on the floor. Michael supposed she'd had too much on her mind to be her usual neat freak self when she went to bed. But it was enough to trip him and he took a few off balance steps towards Monica's bed, then fell, landing sprawled on top of her. 

Feeling his weight on her, Monica woke up, but instead of being comforted by his presence, she was terrified by it, and her screams in his ear nearly deafened him. She kicked him as hard as she could, aiming for his shins or his crotch or just anywhere she could reach. Her hands clawed at his hair, yanking his head back and away from her. Michael tried to get up and get a safe distance away from her so he could explain, but he needed to push himself off the bed, and when he reached for the bed, he accidentally felt her breast, making her even more frightened. When he eventually managed to scramble off her, he backed hurriedly towards the door. Monica scooted to the far side of the bed, sitting up, trying to pull her nightie down, gasping for breath and shaking violently. 

"Get out of her you fucking bastard rapist!" she screamed at him.

"What the hell?! Mon, it's me! I never touched you!" he insisted, but she would hear none of it.

"You raped me! Just cause I'm your wife doesn't mean you're allowed to fucking rape me whenever you want!" 

"Mon, please, I promise you I didn't," he said, trying to stay calm. She must have been dreaming she was being raped, God knows why, and when she woke up with him on top of her like that, she confused her dream and reality. "Think about it Monica, would I really do that? Me?" he tried to appeal to the reasonable part of her.

"**YES!" **she screamed. "Now get the fuck away from me!" 

"Ok, ok Mon, I'm gonna go back to my room and let you calm down. Come in to me if you need me," he said, shaking in fear for his wife. She laughed coldly at the idea of her needing him for anything now. Michael felt a deep wave of sadness. He hoped to God he'd be able to persuade her of the truth, but what if he couldn't? What if she just went on believing it? Believing her husband was a rapist! The thought scared the shit out of him, and it was Michael's turn to experience insomnia that night as he lay in bed thinking about Monica and pitying her and longing to be able to explain himself to her.

As soon as Michael had left her bedroom, Monica got out of bed and got dressed quickly, not caring what she put on. She didn't know where she was going to go, all she knew was that she had to get out of the apartment, she had to get away from Michael. She forced herself not to think about what she was going to do later and to focus on the more basic task of getting out of the apartment. She thanked God Michael had gone to bed, rather than waiting anxiously in the living room, or worse, angrily in the living room. It was easy to slip out, to run quietly down the stairs to the lobby, and to push the swing doors open and step out into the dark and the rain of the city. 

She wandered the streets of New York City like a soul lost among uncaring graves. Her whole world was collapsing around her and she was in danger of being buried in the rubble if she didn't get out. But how could she get out? Where could she escape to at two am in the middle of a thunderstorm? Monica watched her feet on the wet pavement. She had walked for an hour before she realised that she was in a small side street in an unfamiliar part of the City. She had no idea where she was or how to get home.

"I don't want to go home anyway," she muttered to herself. But she felt very cut off from the world she knew, and whatever had happened, that thought scared her. She sank onto a doorstep, bone weary, and put her head in her hands. 

"Where do you wanna go?" a voice asked from behind her. She spun around and looked up at the speaker. It was a rather average looking man, but he was standing and she was sitting, and the light behind him made him seem more intimidating than he would have normally.

"I don't care," Monica said miserably. She went back to staring down at the ground in front of her, not wanting to be drawn into conversation with a stranger right now. Out of sight, the man behind her smiled into the darkness.

"Then you're in the right place." Monica craned round to look at him again, not understanding. "Welcome to The Dark."

A/N – I know Chandler isn't in this one, he's in the next chapter I promise. Please review and let me know what you think, thanks


	2. Dreams are for real

Reality Is Wrong, Chapter 2 

_A/N – Thank you so much for your reviews :) Please review this part as well. It does get a little confusing in places, but hopefully its clear who's perspective it is. They're separated by *s. As promised, Chandler is in this one too. I unfortunately still don't own the characters, Courteney really isn't in that suspicious looking box on my bedroom floor! Honest! *looks innocent* Anyhoo, please read and review and don't get TOO confused ;) _

The man offered her a hand silently. He was wearing dark grey gloves. Monica nervously accepted and he led her inside. The narrow hallway was bathed in sickly yellow light, making the red walls look like dirty blood. Monica glanced around as he took her into a room at the end of the long hall. This room seemed to be an office, with thick soft navy carpet, blue walls and dark, heavy wooden furniture. The man sat down behind the desk and gestured that Monica should sit in the leather chair opposite him. When she did so, the door suddenly slammed shut, making her jump and spin around to look who had shut it, but she could see no one.

"I'm Pete Becker," the man said softly. The name sent a shiver down Monica's spine. "You've heard of my company Caspian and the work we do here at The Dark, I take it?" Mutely, she nodded. "Did you think it was a story dreamed up to scare children? Did you think I was the modern day bogey man?" he teased. Monica shrugged. "You can see for yourself, I'm very real. You can chose to disbelieve my identity if you like, it makes no difference to me. If you want to leave The Dark now, there are drugs I can give you that will make you forget we ever met. But the deeper in you get, the more there will be to forget, the riskier it is for both of us to try and make you forget. It is possible to get so deeply entangled in this thing that you can never be free of it, no drug known to man could make you forget, and I do not like memories of me and my work to circulate freely." Monica was shivering, with cold and fright. He looked at her and smiled surprisingly. "You must be freezing," he said, in a quite different voice, much warmer and friendlier. Pete pressed a small button on his desk, and a few minutes later, a man came in. 

He was so thin Monica could see his bones through the thin, baggy clothes that hung loosely from his body. His face was pale and gaunt, his hair was greasy and dirty and too long. Monica felt a wave of pity wash over her for this man. She wondered why he was here, why he was in such a state, why he shook all over when Pete's eyes fell on him. 

"Bing, go get some dry clothes for the lady, and a towel for her hair," Pete said sharply. Monica gasped loudly. Pete glanced at her curiously, but she ignored him. 

Bing. Chandler Bing. Chandler. Her Chandler. Her Chandler who didn't even see her or recognise her now. She wanted to jump out of her seat, rush over to him, throw her arms around her and beg his forgiveness, shower him with love and get them both out of here. Chandler! Why was he here? The worry gnawed at her stomach, she had a feeling she didn't want to know the answer. He hadn't recognised her, but she hadn't recognised him either, he had changed so much. Monica was suddenly very afraid of Pete Becker, and The Dark and everything that went on there. 

Chandler didn't look at either of them as he shuffled out of the room. Monica looked at Pete, her eyes filled with tears, her hand to her face. Pete narrowed his eyes at her, searching for an explanation.

"That is what happens to those who cannot be allowed to leave. When their escape becomes a trap. There are half a dozen here like that, they work simply as servants, they are not capable of the complex work of my paid employees," he chucked, a hollow, harsh sound, "they are barely capable of normal human functioning." He saw her terrified look. "You may still leave if you wish," he said gently. "And most of my clients are extremely satisfied with the world we give them. Well, the world they give themselves. Do not fear turning into something like that man. They are a tiny, tiny minority of those who entrust themselves to our care." 

"I don't want to leave," Monica said in a small voice. Pete nodded. "What do I have to do?"

Before Pete had time to answer, Chandler came back, carrying a folded green towel and some clothes for Monica. He started to put them down on a table near the door, but Pete frowned and motioned that Chandler should give them to Monica. He approached her reluctantly, firmly avoiding her gaze. He offered her the clothes, keeping his face down. She took them and her fingers lightly brushed his. Chandler jumped back as though her touch burned his skin. He glanced briefly at Pete for permission to leave the room, but Pete shook his head ever so slightly. 

Chandler looked up at Pete, properly for the first time in years. Not since he had been sat where this woman was sat, wanting to escape the pain and misery of his life, had he looked Pete in the face. In the months since that escape had gone wrong for him, he had been living here and seeing Pete everyday but could not bear to look at him or to touch him. He didn't like to look at the people Pete called clients, but he called victims either. He sometimes wondered how many of them would end up like him, a shadow, a shell, unable to escape or to go back to the world they had once sought escape from. 

"Wait over there," Pete instructed. Chandler nodded wearily. He had neither the energy nor the will to go against Pete. He stood patiently in the corner while Pete talked to the woman.

"What do I have to do?" Monica asked again, tearing her eyes away from the pathetic man Chandler had become.

"You sign yourself over to my care. I can release you from it if you chose and I think it's appropriate, but you are bound by it until I say so." 

Monica nodded. Pete produced a piece of paper from a drawer and passed it across the desk to her. A contract. 

"Print your name there," he said, pointing, "and sign there." Monica skimmed through the contract; it was full of words she didn't understand and sentences that meant nothing to her. Feeling like she didn't really care anymore, she breathed a sigh of something like relief and wrote and signed her name. Pete whipped it out of her hands and filed it away. "Get changed," he said. Monica looked around.

"Here?"

"Yes," he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world, and that by objecting, it was Monica who was being unreasonable. He pointed to the clothes in her hand. Monica stood up and turned her back to Pete. She was in her underwear before she realised she was facing Chandler instead. But he wasn't looking at her. 

When she was dressed again, Pete took her clothes from her and handed them to Chandler. Chandler didn't seem to want to touch them, but Pete impatiently forced them into his hands. Chandler could feel the warmth from the woman's body that lingered on her clothes. It made him ache for warmth, but he shivered. Monica watched Chandler and it broke her heart all over again to see him like this. Not recognising her at all was worse than if he'd shouted at her or sulked out of the room or something. How could he have forgotten her? Was that what The Dark did to people? 

"Is there anyone who will miss you?" Pete asked suddenly. Monica jumped at his voice and frowned, not understanding. "Many of our clients have sunk so low there is no one who even notices they're gone. Are you like that?"

"Um no, I live with my husband." Why did she feel like she was betraying Chandler when she said that? A guilty glance at her showed him to be as passive as ever. 

"Address?" Pete demanded. Monica dictated it to him, feeling cold rush into her belly at the thought of what Pete might do to Michael to ensure he didn't miss her, but she didn't dare ask. "Anyone else?" Pete asked. Monica shook her head. Pete didn't question her further; he just typed something into the computer on his desk.

"Come with me," he said finally. Monica followed him out of the room. They walked directly past Chandler, and she stopped in front of him, willing him to see, longing for some spark of recognition from him. Pete noticed he'd left her behind and stopped, turning to watch the two of them. Monica slowly reached up to touch Chandler's face. As her hand approached his cheek, Chandler looked up from the floor and looked at her, eyes wide, and moved away from her, backing against the wall. Monica followed him until she was so close their bodies were only a couple of inches away from each other. Their eyes met.

Chandler screamed. A hollow, hoarse scream that scared Monica even more than the emptiness behind his eyes. She stepped backwards and Pete was there to catch her as she fainted – with that awful sound echoing persistently round her head. 

While Monica was unconscious she was sedated and taken to the Dream Chamber, where she was given the right drugs and hooked up to several machines. Some were there to monitor her heart rate, blood pressure and other signs of physical well-being. One, the biggest, connected her to Pete's "magical" computer that did the work The Dark was famous for. 

Pete had been suspicious of Monica and Chandler, and had questioned Chandler about the incident over and over again, but Chandler swore he didn't know the name Monica Castell, and that he had never seen her before in his life. Pete didn't know whether he should believe Chandler, he wasn't exactly in a state where he was the most reliable person in the world. But Pete decided that it didn't matter much anyway, especially now Monica was in the Dream Chamber and out of Chandler's way. 

Later, Pete went to check on his newest client. She was sleeping peacefully, still under the influence of the tranquilliser they had given her. He glanced around the huge room at the others. It was just as well Monica hadn't seen them, they only would have scared her. A few slept quietly. One woman was having one side of a conversation about a vacation. A man was groaning loudly and thrusting his hips, having sex with a woman Pete couldn't see. Another man was screaming like a little girl. A woman screamed and recoiled from an invisible blow. Pete wasn't responsible for what they dreamed. He gave them the means to live in their dreams, but his clients provided the substance for their world. As he watched, Monica smiled, and Pete smiled too; he liked them to have happy dreams, at least at first.

* * * * * 

Monica woke up with a fever. Her head ached and she felt sick. A man was facing away from her, coming through the door with a tray for her. When he turned around, she smiled when she saw Chandler's warm, worried face looking back at her. Then, strangely, it flickered and was replaced by Michael's face. Monica frowned, but didn't say anything to him, assuming it was some strange delusion that came from her fever.

"Hey sweetie, are you feeling better?" he asked, placing the tray on the table next to her and helping her to sit up. 

"Yeah thanks," she said, taking the tray.

"Let me take your temperature," he said when he was satisfied she'd eaten enough of her breakfast. Monica smiled at his fussing, and let him stick the thermometer in her mouth. "That's good, only 102 degrees, last night it was 104," he told her.

"Have you slept at all last night?" she asked.

"I napped for a couple of hours," he assured her, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, well, try and get some sleep tonight, ok?" she said.

"Yeah, sure, I will," he promised carelessly. "Don't nag Mon, you know I haven't been sleeping too well lately."

"You should go see a doctor if it keeps on much longer."

"I'm fine! You're the one who's ill, and even you're getting better now!" he argued.

Monica let it go. She didn't have the energy for a fight, and Michael was always touchy about his insomnia. By that night, Monica's fever had dropped to almost normal, and aside from insisting that she should wake him if she felt worse in the night, Michael had stopped fussing over her. As it turned out, the only time she woke up that night was when Michael nudged her awake under the pretence of checking she was ok, but Monica was convinced he just couldn't sleep and wanted some company. She assured him she was ok, then rolled over and went back to sleep, ignoring his hand on her thigh that silently asked for sex.

Michael went to work as usual the next day, leaving Monica at home to relax. When he came home, she again had that split second where she thought it was Chandler walking in the door, then it flickered and was Michael. She frowned, that wasn't normal! While he went to the bathroom she quickly took her own temperature. It was normal. So why was she still having her feverish delusions? It was years since she'd thought of Chandler, why suddenly now?

That evening, while she was having sex with Michael, Monica couldn't get the image of Chandler out of her mind. She had to bite her lip to stop herself saying his name by mistake. A week later, nearly every time she saw Michael, he was Chandler for a few seconds first. Even if she just glanced up at him from the book she was reading or something. And it was taking longer and longer for him to flicker back into Michael. Michael had been pleasantly surprised when Monica suddenly began initiating sex not only every night, but every morning too. She was always careful to keep quiet, but it was during sex that the image of Chandler was strongest and stayed for longer than just a few seconds. 

One day while Michael was out at work, Monica hunted out an old photograph album and took out some of her favourite pictures of her and Chandler. After staring at them for long minutes, Monica stuffed them into a half empty tampax box and hid them. Then she slid her fingers gently under the paper lining at the back of the photo album and lifted it. Hidden underneath it, ever since she and Chandler were together, were some intimate photos of her and Chandler. They'd set the camera up on a timer switch one day when the others were all taking Emma for a picnic in the park. In one, Chandler was sat naked in a chair in their living room, with Monica straddling him wearing a lacy black negligee with stockings. His hands were on her hips, pressing her body into his. She remembered they hadn't actually been having sex at the time, but they'd both been pretty heated up. Chandler's lips were pressed onto her breasts. Monica gently touched her breasts through her shirt with her fingertips, tracing where Chandler's lips had been. She sighed softly and suddenly felt desperate for his touch, not just sex, but Chandler. 

As soon as Michael got home, she threw herself on him, in the moment while he was still Chandler in her eyes. He was startled, but responded eagerly, kissing her passionately and sliding his hands up her top. Monica dragged him into the bedroom, working on his belt as they went. Minutes later she was on top of him, they were both naked and she lowered herself down onto his erection. Her eyes were open, loving that Chandler's image had stayed with her ever since he walked through the door. His were closed as he simply lay back and enjoyed what Monica was doing to him. 

"Oh God Chandler," she moaned as he reached up to rub her nipples. Suddenly she was afraid that Michael would be angry and demand an explanation but he said nothing.

"Mon, oh fuck, just keep doing that," he said, stroking her breasts and stomach. Monica's heart leapt; it was Chandler's voice! He'd never spoken as Chandler before, Michael's voice always managed to send the image of Chandler flying out of her head. 

"Are you really Chandler?" she whispered as they lay side by side panting. He gave her a weird look and for a second she was terrified she was going to hear Michael's voice asking who the hell was Chandler.

"Yeah, Mon, I am," he said, humouring her. She rolled onto her side and hugged him tightly. 

The got up and ate a quick dinner, then at Monica's insistence, they went back to bed. She couldn't get enough of Chandler. And she couldn't believe that there was no more flickering back into Michael. It scared her a little, because she didn't understand what was going on, but she was too thankful that she had Chandler to worry too much. The apartment that had been hers and Michael's had changed too, until it had more or less become identical to the one Monica once shared with Chandler. Sometimes it was just little things, like a painting would change overnight, or the couch would move places.  Other times whole walls would move, the bathroom transplanted itself halfway across the apartment. One time she even looked out to a completely different view than she was used to!

Chandler had been Chandler all the time for a week. Monica's theory was that by saying his name aloud, she had sort of given the brief images permission to stay permanently. Chandler had no memory of ever not being there, so she hadn't tried to tell him about all the weird things that had been happening recently. She didn't see the point of getting into things she couldn't even begin to understand herself.

* * * * *

Chandler wasn't supposed to enter the Dream Chamber. Until now he'd thought he never wanted to see that place again in his life. After the woman had touched his face, he had collapsed into a shaking heap on the floor just a couple of seconds after she had fainted. He shuddered at the memory of her gentle touch. In this place, days merged into one another, time meant nothing. But he thought it had been a few weeks since that day, and yet the memory stayed strong and horrifically vivid. He didn't remember ever seeing her before, but something in her eyes when she'd looked at him made him think she knew him, that he should know her.

So he had resolved to see her again. Being questioned by Mr Becker had at least given him her name, Monica Castell. It meant nothing to him. He'd found it surprisingly easy to sneak around this place, and now he stood standing outside the heavy iron door, a stolen security key card in his hand. Chandler was afraid. He knew if he was caught, Mr Becker would kill him if he thought he had to. But that wasn't what scared Chandler. He was sure death couldn't be worse than the living hell that he was in already. He was terrified of Monica. She had reached out to him, and some tiny, soon stifled part of his living dead mind had tried to reach back. And Chandler was afraid of anyone who might have the potential to make him feel things again.

He swiped the security card and the door swung open. Chandler jerked back, the room was a powerful memory to him, and he no longer had the confidence in his ability to go in there. Footsteps sounded in a far off corridor, no threat to him, but it prompted Chandler into action. Pocketing the security card, he stepped into the Dream Chamber and pulled the door shut behind him. He was so on edge, the clang as it shut made him jump. As he walked through the dozens of sleeping clients, he carefully looked only at the name on the chart, not the faces. Chandler's breath grew quick and shallow and his stomach twisted itself into knots.

"Monica Castell," he whispered when he found her. According to her chart, his estimation of a few weeks since she'd arrived was right. Hers was the only face he studied. She seemed to have settled comfortably into her dreams, and the smile on her face told him she was enjoying them, and he felt something like a twinge of happiness that she was happy. He half-expected her blue eyes to open and stare back at him, but of course they didn't. Chandler didn't know why he'd been drawn to find her, it wasn't as he could talk to her. She couldn't tell him anything to explain why she'd touched him or why she'd looked at him with such feeling. He dared himself to touch her, her pale hands lay on her stomach and he reached out to take them with his hands shaking. He got within an inch then withdrew his hands and stuffed them firmly into his pockets. He couldn't do this.

* * * * *

Monica felt as though she'd gone back in time. The friends she hadn't seen in years all came round for breakfast one morning as though it was nothing out of the ordinary. Chandler greeted them all with a casual "hey", as if he saw them everyday still. Monica couldn't help herself throwing her arms around each of them. Rachel hugged her back bug gave her a strange look, Ross kissed her cheek and asked if she was feeling ok, Phoebe started examining her aura, while Joey just hurried out of her arms to the food. As he grabbed at the toast Monica realised that without being aware she was doing it, she had made enough food for six people.

"You ok Mon?" Chandler whispered, pulling her close with an arm around her shoulders. She nodded and kissed him lightly. 

"I'm fine, just happy," she said. Chandler chuckled.

"At having these four scroungers here yet again?"

"Yes," she giggled. 

Eating breakfast with all her friends, like she used to made Monica wonder if somehow she was travelling backwards through time. She was suddenly afraid of going back to before she and Chandler had got together. After having so much more than friendship with Chandler she didn't think she could bear to go back to just being his friend.

That evening she and Rachel went to Phoebe's for a girly slumber party. Monica had suggested it, she wanted to spend some time with them, after all, to her, she hadn't seen them in years. She spent most of the first hour or so just gazing happily at them. After Phoebe caught her doing this several times, the others conspired to get Monica drunk to see if that would make her tell them why she'd been acting so weird all day. However, even after as much alcohol as Rachel and Phoebe could get down her throat, Monica had enough sense to see that they'd never believe her story. She didn't really believe what seemed to be happening to her either.

"Come on, lets play Twister while there's no guys to snigger," Phoebe suggested, finding the game under her couch.

"But that's the funnest part!" Rachel giggled drunkenly.

"Come on Mon, spin the bottle," Phoebe prompted, setting the game up.

"What bottle?" Monica asked, frowning at the spinner Phoebe had handed her.

"The spinner!" Rachel explained. For some reason they all found that hysterically funny. 

"Ok, serious!" Monica said, then snorted with a relapse of laughter. The game lasted about two minutes before Rachel collapsed on top of Phoebe with a scream.

"No fair! That was your fault," Phoebe complained.

"Fine, I'll spin the bottle," Rachel said, and was interrupted by more squeals of laughter, "You get your ass kicked by Monica." Rachel and Monica changed places, then there was a few minutes quiet. "I can't see the colors," Rachel screamed. The game was soon abandoned since it required balance and a little concentration, two things their drunken minds couldn't quite manage.

They collapsed onto a big pile of blankets and sleeping bags and fell asleep around six am. Waking up with a hangover at lunchtime, Monica's first thought was of Chandler. She wanted him to tuck her up in bed and let her sleep last night off, and she wanted his gentle touch to sooth her aching head. She scribbled a quick note to Rachel and Phoebe who were still asleep, and went home.

"Hey sweetie, good night was it?" Chandler asked when she arrived back at the apartment.

"Yeah," she said tiredly, getting herself a glass of water.  

"You going back to bed?" Chandler stood behind her at the sink and kissed her cheek. She nodded and leaned back against him. "Sweet dreams sweetheart," he said, ushering her gently towards the bedroom.

Smiling at his affection, Monica stripped off yesterdays clothes and slid naked under the covers. She fell asleep almost straight away, her hair still tangled and her make-up still smudged.

Almost at once, she began to dream. 

She was standing on her own in the middle of a dark room, naked and exposed. A pale beam of light shone from underneath the door. When it opened, the light suddenly became much brighter and made her squint. A man stood in the doorway. Monica could only see his dark silhouette against the light, but even that was enough to terrify her. The man walked further into the room and approached her. The door had closed again and the room was shrouded in darkness once again. She couldn't see the man anymore, but she could hear his harsh, rasping breathing and feel his presence in the room with her. His large, heavy hand touched her arm, sending goose bumps flying all over her body. Monica desperately wanted to scream and run away, but her throat had tightened in fear so she could only whimper, and she was trapped. His hand moved up her arm over her trembling shoulder and down to her breast. Ice cold fingers pinched her nipple hard and she cried out, managing to raise her voice a little more this time. The man's breath in her face was hot and foul smelling and it turned her stomach. His other hand roamed down between her breasts, over her quivering stomach, circled her belly button, then continued downwards. Monica finally managed to scream, but she was powerless.

* * * * *

Chandler had sworn to himself that he wouldn't think about Monica Castell anymore. She scared him with her ability to reach him. Ever since he had come out of the Dream Chamber and started working for Caspian, the company Pete ran which owned The Dark, Chandler had believed he was unreachable. But he couldn't get her off his mind. While he lay restless in his uncomfortable bed in a cramped room with the five others who were like him, he waited until the screams of those around him had died before he attempted to snatch some sleep himself. But even then, he couldn't because her face was etched behind his eyelids.

The Dark was a place that changed little according to the time of day, as to the clients, time was what they made it. So Chandler found it no harder to sneak back to the Dream Chamber a second time. This time he walked faster through the clients, heading directly to where he knew Monica would be. He heard the screaming, but it was nothing unusual in here; he wasn't the only one to have nightmares. When Chandler realised it was Monica who was screaming, he felt something in him stir. He pitied her, he didn't want her to end up like him. Chandler blinked hard against a few tears that stung his eyes but stubbornly didn't fall. He wanted to help her, but he didn't know what to do. It was a long time since he'd had any meaningful contact with a real person that he had almost forgotten how to comfort someone. Awkwardly, he sat on her bed next to her and gathered her into his arms.

* * * * *

Monica felt strong arms surround her. At first she was afraid it was the man who had silently threatened her, and she screamed again, suddenly finding herself able to lash out and fight back. The man only held her tighter, but she realised he wasn't holding her in a sexual or threatening way; his hand gently stroked her back and he whispered comfort to her.

"Chandler," she said gratefully, clinging to him and letting herself rest comfortably in his arms.

"Are you ok? You scared me there!" She snuggled closer to him and nodded.

"Of course, I have you to protect me."

Chandler smiled and kissed her hair. He didn't ask her to explain her dream, it was probably partly due to the amount of alcohol he guessed she'd drunk the night before. "You gonna stay here and sleep some more or get up?" he asked.

"I'll get up, just give me a minute to get dressed" she said. She soon joined Chandler into the living room. They flopped down onto the couch together and Monica leaned against Chandler while he flicked through the various TV channels. After circling through them all twice, he gave up and switched the TV off. Then he realised Monica had fallen asleep again after all. Smiling to himself at how adorable she looked, Chandler relaxed back onto the couch so he could enjoy the feeling of her warm, sleepy body pressed against his. 

When she woke up again a few hours later, Monica felt much better. At some point, Chandler had carried her into the bedroom and put her to bed, but she barely even remembered getting up at all. Her nightmare was forgotten completely. 

* * * * *

That night Chandler slept peacefully for the first time since he'd been in The Dark. He had helped her! She had momentarily struggled in his arms, but then she had become quiet and still. Then she had said his name. How had she known his name? Was she awake, and had she recognised him? No, that was impossible. Well then was she dreaming about him? He supposed she must be dreaming about someone named Chandler, and it wasn't exactly a very common name, but surely it couldn't have been him! She didn't know him! But she **did **know him. He had sensed that she had when she touched him that day in Mr Becker's office. But he didn't know her.

He had fled when she said his name. He had bitten his lip so hard he drew blood in an attempt to stop himself screaming, at least until he was out of the Dream Chamber. Chandler knew if he started screaming in there he'd never be able to stop.

* * * * *

Over the next few weeks, Monica sometimes found herself suddenly in the middle of a blazing row with Chandler. Often she had no idea how they started. And not in the way people forgot what the original issue was. She would feel things around her flicker, as they had when Michael was changing into Chandler, only now she would feel a wave of anger flood her body and she would sometimes even be standing in a different place in the apartment or wearing different clothes or it was a different time of day or something. And when she looked at Chandler, he was mad too, so they were obviously mid-fight and she had no way of calming things down.

One day that had just been sitting on the couch watching TV together, with Chandler's arm comfortably around Monica's shoulders. Then she felt the whole room flicker, and they were standing facing one another in the kitchen, and she was angrier than she had ever been in her life before, only she didn't know **why** she was so mad. She screamed wordlessly in frustration and pushed a plate from the counter to the floor. Chandler frowned at her.

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded angrily. Monica turned away from him, leaned on the counter and sighed deeply. "Monica!" Chandler said sharply. She turned back to face him again. The inexplicable anger she had felt before had exploded out of her and now she simply felt tired and confused. 

"I swear to God I'm going crazy," she murmured. Chandler couldn't see her so unhappy and stay mad at her, so he pulled her close and hugged her hard.

"Why Mon? What's wrong?" he asked, stroking her hair. She shook her head, even if she had thought he could understand, she wouldn't have known where to find the words to tell him.

"Please don't be angry with me Chandler, I can't bear it when you're angry and I don't know why," she said plaintively. 

"Monica, I don't understand," he said, confused. How could she not know? She had been screaming at him only moments ago, as angry as he had been.

"Neither do I," she said softly. Chandler could see why she thought she was going crazy. All he could think of to do was hug her. 

That night Monica slept deeply. She was barely even aware of Chandler's arms surrounding her, or his breath warm against her neck. Monica woke up suddenly, feeling as though Chandler was forcing himself on her. But Chandler was lying still and snoring softly next to her. But even when she saw him there, she couldn't get rid of the feeling that a man was on top of her and inside her. She tried to scream but no sound escaped her lips. She tried to poke Chandler awake but she was paralysed and somehow she knew he couldn't help her. Monica endured the waking nightmare for a long time. Every so often she would feel empty, as if the invisible man who was abusing her had withdrawn, then she would feel violated again and it would begin all over again. Finally, after the cycle had repeated half a dozen times, Monica was left alone and was slowly able to regain control of her body again. She realised she was tense and shaking.

Chandler was woken by Monica gently shaking him. He groaned tiredly, but when he saw she was crying he stifled a yawn and sat up. Monica cried even harder, though now with relief, and she flung herself forward into his arms. Chandler held her tightly.

"Monica, what's the matter?" he asked worriedly. 

"Don't let them come again Chandler, please don't," she begged.

"Who Mon, who?" 

"I don't know."

Chandler had no idea what else he could do or say. Maybe she really was going crazy. He hated to think of his beautiful, perfect Monica as crazy, but perhaps she was. Or maybe she'd just had a nightmare and mixed it up with reality. 

In the morning Monica woke late and had no memory of her terrifying ordeal. Chandler didn't mention it either.

* * * * *

Chandler had been seen sneaking to see Monica. Some of the technicians had watched him on the monitors. But they hadn't told Mr Becker like they should have. Instead they had followed him the next time. The group of men lurked in the shadows of the Dream Chamber while Chandler walked quickly to Monica's side. They waited patiently while Chandler stood watching her, unaware he too was being watched.

Chandler was amazed by her. He hadn't realised until now how beautiful she was, his senses had been deadened by his time here, and somehow she was bringing them back to life. He gently stroked her pale cheek, feeling her skin soft and cool. He brushed his fingertips across her lips. To his surprise, she kissed his fingers, which he quickly withdrew, then ventured back. She smiled under his touch and licked her lips. Chandler smiled instinctively. The muscles in his face made him very aware of the movement, and that he hadn't smiled properly in a long time. Monica reached for his hand. Her touch was cold but Chandler hardly felt it. She moved his hand onto her breast. Through the thin material of her hospital style gown, Chandler could feel her nipple hard beneath his palm. He pulled his hand away, afraid, and she pouted in disappointment.

Chandler spun around when he heard sniggers from behind him. He stared blindly into the dark corner where they came from, but couldn't see anyone. Chandler's pulse raced in fear; he wasn't supposed to even be here, never mind touching one of the Sleepers. Monica whispered something, but he wasn't listening. When she grabbed at his hand again, he passively let her take it, but when she prompted him by placing it on her thigh, he didn't move it at all, neither to draw away or stroke her.

"Chandler, what's the matter with you?" she asked the man in her dream in a clear, frustrated voice. Chandler jumped at least a foot away from her. The laughing grew louder and he was grateful they didn't know his name, if they knew him as anything it would only be Bing. 

"Are you giving her nice dreams?" one of the men sneered. Chandler still couldn't see him, and didn't recognise the voice. He said nothing.

"I think he heard what we did to her the other day and now he wants in on the action," a second man said.

"What did you do to her?" Chandler demanded. More laughter. Anger mingled with fear now, and he stepped a little closer to Monica, as if to protect her.

"Don't you know, can't you guess?" a third man giggled.

"We raped her," a fourth said, with nervous laughter.

"We took turns," a fifth added.

"She wasn't as good as some of them," a sixth person said, telling Chandler that Monica hadn't been their first victim.

"Maybe she didn't incorporate it into her dream, or maybe she's just a really bad lay anyway," the fifth said scornfully.

"You bastards," Chandler said in a low voice. Fear had almost wholly been replaced by anger now. He couldn't believe anyone could take advantage of Monica, especially not six people who were supposed to be taking care of her. His anger surprised him with its strength, making him feel powerful and strangely refreshed. But it only amused the six tormentors.

"Bings only mad cause we beat him to it," the first one said.

"I think we should let him have her for tonight," the sixth said. Chandler shook his head violently.

"I won't hurt her, and I won't let you hurt her either," he said bravely. 

They advanced on him and dragged him a little way away from the bed. There, they started punching and kicking him. Chandler was perfectly prepared to die if he thought it would help Monica, which was due as much to the emptiness of his life as well as the emotion she stirred up in him. But him dying wouldn't do anything, the men would continue their abuse of Monica and other Sleepers. He might not be able to protect them all, but he could protect Monica. 

"Alright!" he shouted. They stopped attacking him and hauled him to his feet. "I'll do it, but if I do none of you can touch her," he said. They glanced at one another, there would always be other Sleepers, other nights. They could amuse themselves with Bing and this woman tonight, then next time they would pick an easier target. 

"Fine," one of them said. Chandler had lost track of which was which by now. He felt them push him towards Monica's bed, and was suddenly nervous. But he hoped that she was already dreaming of sex with (him?) someone, and he wouldn't hurt her, it would be much better for her this way. One of the technicians pulled her gown open, exposing her ghost white body. At any other time Chandler would have marvelled at her beauty, now he felt only scared to touch her.

He tried not to focus onto the men watching and enjoying this, but on giving Monica pleasure and just hoping she was dreaming it. She did appear to be enjoying it; she moaned as Chandler's nervous hands stroked her breasts and stomach. 

* * * * *

Monica was impatient for Chandler to fuck her. She'd been horny for ages and all he'd managed to do was fumble hesitantly with her breasts. Now he began to finger fuck her and she squirmed under his touch and moaned loudly. She had to beg him and physically pull him on top of her to get him to actually fuck her, which wasn't at all like Chandler. When they were finished, she felt a flickering, but nothing visible changed. Chandler fell asleep almost immediately, and Monica also fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, from which she woke the following morning feeling groggy and sleepy.

When she woke up, Chandler had already got up before her. She idly wondered why he never seemed to go to work. Had he really quit the job he'd hated for so long? Well then why wasn't he more concerned about finding a new one? How were two unemployed people supporting themselves? Shaking the thoughts out of her head, she went out into the living room to find Chandler. She greeted him with a passionate kiss before she noticed that Joey was there, grinning insinuatingly at them. 

"Mon, me and Joey are gonna go to the ballgame today ok?" Chandler said, pulling her onto his lap and kissing her hair.

"Of course its ok, I'm not your mother."

"Thank God for that, cause I don't think I'm young enough or blonde enough for her tastes anyway," Chandler joked, pulling a face.

"Dude, people are trying to eat!" Joey complained. 

"Eat at your own place, where Chandler won't make incestuous jokes and you won't have to watch us make out," Monica told him, kissing Chandler again.

"Ok, ok, I can take a hint!" Joey said, getting up and leaving the apartment. Chandler's hands were sliding up Monica's top when the door opened and Joey reappeared. He grabbed the remainder of his breakfast, winked at Chandler and left again. Monica chuckled.

"I need to teach him how to cook," she said.

"Forget Joey," Chandler said.

"Mmm, ok," she giggled as her top went over her head and onto the floor.

That evening Monica decided to rent a soppy movie and stuff her face with popcorn and chocolate. She would've invited Rachel and Phoebe over, but they had both mentioned dates. Chandler laughed at her in her pjs on the couch has he got ready to leave. Monica had kissed him and told her to have a good macho guys night out with Joey, then come home and comfort her when she was crying from the movie.

"When you say comfort you mean sex right?" Chandler asked.

"Sure, sex works."

"Ok then, see you later, enjoy your movie."

"Enjoy your game."

About an hour after Chandler had gone, Monica was midway through her movie, tissues on one side, popcorn on the other, empty chocolate box on the table in from of her. Suddenly she felt as though her entire body was going numb and she was going to sleep, but she wasn't even tired. She was aware of what was going on, but couldn't do anything to stop it. Her brain couldn't make sense of it either, she just sat there paralysed and mute. Agonising pains racked her stomach. She recognised then that she was miscarrying a baby, but she hadn't even known she was pregnant. But she didn't cry. She couldn't cry. She could feel someone sucking her insides out of her. Her own screams echoed round her head but she couldn't make a sound. And no one was there to hear even if she could. She could have sworn she heard a baby's cry, then everything went black.


	3. Memories are films about ghosts

Reality is Wrong, Chapter 3 

A/N: Sorry about how long this has taken me, I've been interrupted by coursework and general crappiness. Anyway, here's part three. I still don't own them, and I won't by the time part four is done either. Thanks for your reviews, please keep on reviewing, it makes my day, cause I'm sad like that ;-) Dedicated to Meggypoo, poor confuzzled Meggypoo, caru ti pwt. 

When Monica woke up she felt sick and feverish. Her abdomen throbbed with pain and pins and needles tingled in her arms and legs. Stiffly, she got up from the couch. The movement made her dizzy and nauseas and she staggered to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she came back out, still moving very slowly, and  poured herself a glass of water, which she sipped at. Raising a hand to her forehead she thought she had a temperature, but she felt to ill to find a thermometer and check. As she lay back down on the couch and closed her eyes she thought she felt Chandler's sweet, cool hand on her burning face. Opening her eyes she saw he wasn't there, so she let her eyes fall closed again and allowed herself to believe Chandler was here with her.

By the time Chandler came home Monica had been sick two more times and was lying on the couch with a half empty glass of water on the table, popcorn spilt on the floor that she had dropped at some point without noticing and not picked up. She felt absolutely awful. When Chandler saw her looking so ill, he immediately rushed over and crouched beside her.

"Sweetie, are you ok?" he asked, although it was obvious she wasn't. Monica didn't even make a snappy comment at him, she just shook her head. "Come on, lets get you to bed," he said, picking her up gently and carrying her through into the bedroom. He laid her on the bed, and started to undress her. Pulling her pj pants down her legs Chandler felt how hot her skin was, and he was worried about what was wrong with her. Then he noticed blood at the crotch. "Mon, are you on your period? Are you getting your period?" he asked, trying desperately to remember when she'd last had it. Monica shook her head.

"No, not for another week or so," she said weakly.

"Are you **sure**?" he asked, beginning to panic. She nodded. 

"Why?"

"You're bleeding," he told her in a strange voice. 

"They killed my baby," she said, without knowing why she was saying it. "They sucked it out of me and they killed it." 

"What? What baby Monica? Who are 'they'?" he asked. She seemed to be drifting into sleep, and he shook her shoulders gently.

"I don't know."

"Monica," he started to say something, then realised he had no idea what he **could** say. "Mon, sweetie, just go to sleep, I'll stay here in case you're ill in the night or you need me for anything." She managed to nod, then turned her head so the cool pillow rested against her hot cheek. Chandler knew that despite her closed eyes, she was still awake, so he kept his promise of staying right here, holding her hand until she pulled it out of his grip as she rolled over. Eventually, she fell asleep and Chandler was able to quickly get ready for bed himself. However, he didn't get into bed straight away, partly because Monica was sprawled diagonally over his side of the bed, but mostly because he wanted to stay awake for her a little longer. 

When Chandler woke up in the morning he was relieved to see that Monica was still asleep. He gently felt her forehead and thought she felt slightly cooler, although she still had a fever. She was ill for the next two days, hardly getting out of bed and occasionally delirious. During those times she would beg Chandler to protect her from "them" and worst of all, she was sometimes afraid that he was one of "them" and screamed if he touched her or came too close. 

* * * * *

Chandler had been forced to watch the six men abort Monica's baby. It wasn't even a proper baby yet, just a few cells that had started to divide and multiply. He wondered if they thought of it as a few cells, and if that made it easier for them to do it. Personally, even if he could persuade himself that it was better for Monica not to be pregnant, especially since the father was most likely one of the men who raped her, he couldn't persuade himself that there was any justification for causing her so much obvious distress. As they finished the procedure and pulled the equipment out of her, Chandler saw the look of intense loss, fear and agony on Monica's face and could not stifle the childish cry that rose from him.

He stayed away from her for two days, not wanting to be confronted with what they had done to her. When he did venture back, he was terrified when she screamed loudly, apparently directly to him, to get the hell away from her. He couldn't stay, and ran straight out of the Dream Chamber. 

During the time he stayed away from Monica, Chandler was tormented with dreams. This in itself was nothing unusual. Nightmares were more common in The Dark than anywhere else Chandler had ever been in his life. But his usual nightmares were of vague concepts or fears that were never more than a blur when he awoke. Strangely, the dreams he had now were more like snatches of memories returning to him. He remember little things about his life before he came here. His time in the Dream Chamber had wiped his memory, but now it seemed some of it was returning. It was never the big things, the important things, only ever apparently meaningless things that somehow felt more important. These snapshots of time were all he had to cling to while he fretted about Monica.

Sitting in an armchair with a woman on his lap doing a crossword together. Kissing her dark hair and smelling the floral scent of her perfume.

Kissing her hello one evening after work and feeling a quick peck deepen into a passionate kiss.

Looking after her when she was ill and tucking her up in bed.

Sneaking into a closet with her because they couldn't wait to get home, in a place that was so familiar it felt like a second home, but which he had no clear memory off.

Standing on the balcony of their apartment with her in the snow with his arms around her, hugging her from behind and kissing her just below her ear.

In all of these memories he never saw her face. All he knew about the woman he had shared his life with was that she was petite, with dark hair and a laugh that never failed to make him smile. And she made him happy. And he always woke from his dreams with a feeling of calmness and a lingering sense of belonging to someone. 

Chandler enjoyed his memories of happier times, both in his sleep while he dreamed them and during the day as he turned them over in his mind. But he didn't understand how they had led him here. He had seen enough clients coming in to The Dark to know that only the most desperate people came here, when they had sunk so low they had nothing left to lose. Yet sometimes, they would find, as he had, that there are still things that can be lost, and if anywhere can help you lose them, The Dark can.

Wondering about what had gone wrong for him did not take up too much of Chandler's time. He didn't really want to know how these delightful memories had become a waking nightmare he sought to escape in sleep. Now that he was finally sleeping relatively well he didn't need new nightmares to haunt him. But unfortunately for Chandler, his idle curiosity refused to be pushed out of his mind altogether. 

He had a dream.

_He and the woman were lying in bed together, naked and cuddling after sex. Her freckled skin was warm and soft. The freckles sent a warning jolt to his brain, but he couldn't figure out why. Her dark hair tickled his nose and he buried his face in her neck, smelling the sweet smell of her shampoo and a deeper, warmer smell of her own skin._

_"Are you sure you're ok with this?" she asked, stopping his hands from travelling over her breasts and stomach. Chandler sighed, not wanting to discuss it._

_"Of course I am," he said._

_"Sweetie, its ok to be scared you know," she said, taking his hand in both of hers._

_"Scared? Why would I be scared?"_

_"Because you're **Chandler**," she said with an impatient but affectionate chuckle._

_"Thanks sweetie, I love you too," he said sarcastically. _

_"I just mean that any guy would be scared, and with all your commitment issues I'd expect you to be even more scared," she said, lifting his hand to her lips and kissing it tenderly._

_"Maybe I just don't have so many commitment issues with you," Chandler suggested._

_"You'd tell me if you did though, right?" she asked worriedly._

_"Of course!"_

_"Really?"_

_"Really!"_

_"I just think you're taking this way too well," she said._

_"I did my freaking out earlier remember?" he said._

_"Yes about that…"_

_"I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry," he babbled kissing her neck. She giggled._

_"Just don't go leaving me at any more alters Chandler Bing!" she said, turning round in his arms to face him and kiss him on the nose._

_It was Monica Castell._

_"I won't," he promised._

_"Good. Now how 'bout we consummate our marriage some more?" she suggested. Of course, he agreed._

When he woke up, Chandler found he wasn't surprised by who the woman was. It was as though he had been expecting it, perhaps ever since she touched his face that day. And it certainly explained why she knew him, and why he thought he should know her. He didn't doubt for a moment that this wasn't real. If he didn't believe she knew him, he might have said the woman had Monica's face because of wishful thinking or something. But she knew him! God, she had been **married** to him, **pregnant** with his baby! He frowned. The dream had told him who he had shared his life with before he came here, but it hadn't explained why he had resorted to this. Things must have gone terribly wrong for them **both** to end up here. 

He didn't know what had happened to him in the Dream Chamber, but he supposed it must have been even worse than what had happened to him in the real world away from The Dark, because he had killed himself in the alternate world he had created. He didn't remember doing it, but when he woke up in a bare room somewhere deep in The Dark with Mr Becker standing over him frowning, he was told he'd slit his wrists. There were scars on his wrists, they looked like scars from a long time ago, but he had actually only done it (in his dream) a few days ago. Mr Becker had no choice but to bring Chandler out of his dream and back to reality. But he couldn't let a jabbering wreck like Chandler back into the world, so he had kept him here, to work for him, until he died Chandler supposed.

Sighing Chandler got up and forced Monica Castell out of his mind. He wanted to be able to enjoy the happiness the dreams of her gave him as long as possible, until the bad dreams came, as they inevitably would.

* * * * *

Monica was bored and restless after Chandler made her spend several days in bed. She insisted she was fine. The strange arguments with Chandler had started again, and she always felt exhausted when it happened. One evening she had been curled up in a chair reading a book while Chandler was over at Joey's watching a football game. Then came the horrible flickering and she was in their bedroom, wearing a silk nightie that hung open at the neck. A man was lying on top of the cover, wearing only boxers, with a clearly visible erection. Monica frowned. She could have sworn it was Michael on the bed. She recognised him from somewhere deep inside her, but she didn't know how she knew him. Things flickered again, but this time the picture in front of her didn't change, except Michael seemed a little more solid, a little more real. Then Chandler walked in. Monica looked at the bed. Michael was still there. She looked back at Chandler and saw the look of hurt anger on his face. Another flicker. She was crouched on the floor by the window, Chandler was standing over her, his fist raised. Michael was coming at Chandler from behind trying to stop him. Another flicker, before she could get hurt or see either of the two men get hurt. She was lying in bed naked, Chandler on one side, Michael on the other, both with their backs to her. She touched Chandler gently on the shoulder, but before he could respond there was another flicker. She was sitting in the cold and rain on a doorstep she didn't recognise, in the dark in the middle of a storm. Another flicker. Monica was at the alter with Chandler at their wedding. With another flicker he turned into Michael and slapped her. 

With the slap came another flicker that sent her back to the chair where she had started, only now Chandler was in the room perched on the coffee table in front of her asking if she was ok. Monica was shaking and couldn't manage to string together an explanation for several minutes. Chandler just sat there patiently, holding her hands and stroking them soothingly until she calmed down a little. She opened her mouth to try and tell him what had happened when everything flickered again. She sobbed hoarsely, but no sound came out. She was standing in Central Perk, alone. The lights were off, the place had closed. She heard giggling coming from the closet in the corner. The door swung open and she saw Chandler and a blonde, big breasted woman standing there, clothes undone. She screamed. Another flicker. She was in Chandler's office, her skirt pulled up, blouse undone, leaning over his desk while he fucked her. But when he moaned her name it was Michael's voice not Chandler's. Another flicker and she was at home in bed with Michael while he slept soundly and she lay with her eyes wide open. 

She waited with despairing expectation for the scene to change again, but it didn't. She was crying softly, confused and afraid of what was happening to her. She didn't want Michael, she wanted Chandler. Chandler who would comfort her and sooth her and be **awake** when she needed him! Monica woke Michael up. She needed someone to comfort her, and she was upset enough not to care too much about who it was. Michael looked confused as he woke up, but as he reached for her to hug her, there was another flicker and she was stood on the balcony in the pouring rain. She looked down at her hands and was surprised to see she was holding a screwed up baby grow, too small to fit any baby bigger than a newborn. Without any control or understanding of what she was doing, she flung it over the side of the balcony down to the street below. Before she saw it land, there was another flicker. She was in a dark room, so dark she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face. She screamed in confused desperation.

Then she fainted and was no longer even aware of her own screams.

* * * * *

When Monica woke up, it was for real. She felt as though her entire body was filled with lead, and her mind was fuzzy. She was lying on the hard floor in a tiny, dimly lit room, her head resting on a very uncomfortable, uneven pillow. Reaching underneath her head, she realised it wasn't a pillow at all, but a man's shirt screwed up into a ball. She tried to see who's shirt it was, but her eyes were slow and blurry. 

"Monica?" a quiet voice said. Chandler had seen her try and open her eyes and hoped to God he'd done the right thing taking her out of there. She blinked hard several times to focus her eyes, and eventually, he swam into view. 

"Chandler?" she whispered. She was so scared, she had no idea what was going on, if everything was going to flicker again and he was going to disappear. But this felt so different to everything else, she couldn't put her finger on it.

"You **do** know me!" he said delightedly. Monica smiled dazedly at him.

"Where am I?" she asked. Chandler looked uncomfortable, like he didn't want to answer, but he did anyway.

"The Dark," he said, shuddering.

"What?"

"It's a place where dreams come true," he said, not wanting to get into it. "Sort of anyway."

"That sounds nice," she said with a faint smile.

"Its not. Nightmares come true too."

Monica just looked at him, eyes wide and innocent. She was obviously still under the influence of the drugs they had been pumping into her ever since she arrived. Chandler knew there was no point trying to tell her more now. She wouldn't understand and even if she did, he wanted to protect her a little longer. 

"Never mind that though, we have to get out of here," he said. He shivered violently. It had been easier than he ever could have imagined to get Monica off the machine, out of the Dream Chamber and into his little room. The hard part was going to be getting her out of The Dark properly. 

"Why?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbows and looking at him. Tenderly, he brushed her hair out of her face and held her face in his hands. 

"Its not safe here. You're not supposed to be here, and I'm not supposed to be with you," he said. She just looked at him. "Come on," Chandler said, "Can you stand up now?" he pulled himself to his feet and offered his hand to her. Monica took it and struggled to her feet. She wavered a little, but seemed more or less balanced. 

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Anywhere but here," he said, "hang on a minute while I check the coast is clear." He crept out of the room and down the corridor a little way. When he got back he nodded and took Monica's hand and urged her to follow him as quickly as she could. Which wasn't very quickly at all really; she didn't seem very steady on her feet, and looked like an overtired child. "Monica, please try and hurry," he begged gently. Monica nodded but didn't move a whole lot faster.

"Ah, Bing, what are you doing here? And with a client too. Sleep walking was she?" Pete Becker's voice froze Chandler. 

"N..n..no sir," he stammered, pulling Monica closer to him. 

"Then what the **hell **do you think you're doing," he demanded.

Chandler had no answer. Monica looked from one man to the other, confused. Before they knew it, they were being marched into Pete's office. Monica and Chandler stood helplessly just inside the door of the office while Pete strode past them. Monica was trembling and Chandler had retreated back into the shell that had always protected him before all this happened, but was now crumbling around him. Pete sat behind his desk and typed something into his computer. The sharp force with which he taped the keys was the only evidence of his rage. Monica still seemed only half in reality, and not understanding any of it, but Chandler reached for her hand and held it, because he needed the comfort even if she didn't.

"Bing, explain," Pete said after a few minutes, pushing himself away from the desk slightly. Chandler stared down at the carpet, the enormity of what had happened was too hard to explain to such a cold face. "I said explain Bing!" Pete bellowed, infuriated by Chandler's silence. Monica shrank closer to Chandler in fear. Chandler was shaking and blinking back tears; more than Monica, he knew exactly what there was to be afraid of. 

"I…I…I can't sir," he whispered.

"Then let me. I have watched footage from my technicians that shows you abusing this woman, this client," Pete said coldly. Monica flinched away from Chandler and his heard sank. "I have seen you repeatedly disobeying orders to visit her."

"Did you also see what your precious technicians did to her?" Chandler shouted suddenly.

"What my technicians do is none of your business." Pete said without seeming the least bit flustered.

"Isn't it her business either? If they were raping and bullying her when she was powerless to do anything, isn't it her business even if its not mine?" 

"Shut up Bing! I'm angry enough with you without you being rude and interfering in matters which do not concern you." Feeling like a naughty schoolboy, Chandler fell silent.  Monica had moved closer again and she laid her head on his shoulder. He wasn't sure if it was out of pure tiredness or as a gesture of comfort, but he chose to believe the latter.

"What are you going to do to us?" Monica asked softly. She still didn't really grasp what was happening, but sensed that their fates were in Pete's hands.

"That, my dear, is up to you," Pete said smiling for the first time. "I could, of course, kill you both here and now, it would probably be easier for me if I did. But I'm not as heartless as you might think." Chandler didn't risk commenting that Pete would have to do a hell of a lot more to change his view. "I could put you," he pointed at Monica, "back in the Dream Chamber, although I think your nightmares will become increasingly worse until you end up like him." Pete pointed at Chandler. 

"What will happen to Chandler?" she asked.

"I kill him," Pete shrugged, "I cannot have disobedient staff."

"What's the other option?" Monica asked. Chandler kept quiet. Monica had the most to lose, it should be her choice, even if it cost him everything. 

"I blank Bing. You go home with your husband, but I'll come to that soon. Blanking is a new project we at Caspian are working on. It involves completely wiping the memory of someone. We don't know if they will retain any skills, even the most basic ones, learnt in babyhood. We need a human test subject." 

"Why Chandler?" Monica asked. Chandler felt proud of her for managing to talk to Pete almost like an equal. 

"Who else would volunteer?" She didn't answer. "What do you want Monica?" She looked desperately at Chandler, wanting him to tell her what to do. Chandler tried to keep his face impassive. He wasn't convinced that Blanking would be much better than dying, so neither of his options were all that appealing. 

"Chandler?" she asked, trying to force him into voicing an opinion.

"Do what you want Mon," he said blankly. She turned away from Chandler and met Pete's icy gaze.

"You said you'd tell me more about my husband?" she queried.

"Ah yes. Michael Castell. He found you here, and begged us to let him work here, to be close to you. We normally would have killed him, but he told me something that made me curious about you. He told me all about your nightmares, do you remember how you always had nightmares Monica? He told me the night you left you accused him of raping you, when he insisted he had never laid a finger on you. I've never had the chance to compare dreaming habits before someone came here and their experience in the Dream Chamber. Were you unhappy in there Monica?" 

"Sometimes," she said quietly.

"Tell me," he said eagerly. 

Monica sighed. "Some of the time I was happy. Especially at first, and then when I was with Chandler. But sometimes it was like living inside a nightmare, there was a lot I didn't understand and it scared me."

"Was Bing there from the start?"

"No," Monica said, but didn't elaborate. She could tell Pete's business dealt in dreams but Michael becoming Chandler was too weird for her to want to explain, especially with Chandler sitting next to her.

"Interesting," Pete said, jotting something down on a pad of paper. "But I digress. Your husband believed, as we all did, that it was impossible to escape the Dream Chamber, and that he would never have you again as a proper wife, but he insisted he wanted to be here. He would rather be here, staying here for a wife who would never see him, never talk to him again, than go home and get on with his life."

"Like you'd have let him do that anyway," Chandler said scornfully.

"Bing, you know nothing of my company. We do indeed dispose of some of our clients relatives and friends, but most are suitable to be drugged into forgetting their child, parent, friend, husband, wife, sibling or whatever. Your husband would have been drugged, especially since he was so helpful to us."

"Michael's here?" Monica asked.

"Yes. You can see him if you wish, before you decide anything."

"Thank you."

"Wait here, both of you. If you take so much as half a step outside this office it will be your last, but no one will hurt you if you stay inside. And do sit down won't you," Pete said, as he went to the door and left them alone.

"Chandler, I'm sorry," Monica said. Chandler said nothing, so she walked dejectedly over to one of the chairs in front of Pete's desk and sat down.

"It doesn't matter Mon," he said, reluctantly following her and sitting down.

"Its just…I don't know how much of what I felt for you was my dream," she said.

"I know, me neither really, I don't remember what my life was like before I came here."

"Michael is reality. No matter what I dreamed, he was real."

"Its ok Mon, do what's best for you, don't worry about me."

"Chandler…"

"I thought I was doing a good thing getting you out of there."

Before Monica could answer, Pete came back. Both Chandler and Monica turned in their seats. Pete smiled at Chandler, and stepped aside. Michael followed him into the room, looking worried and expectant. When he saw Monica sitting, pale but healthy, and most of all, awake and real, his face broke into a grin and he hurried across the room to hug her. Monica stood up and let his arms crush her into his chest. He buried his face in her shoulder and when his grip finally loosened, Monica saw tears in his eyes. 

"Thank God you're ok," Michael said, holding her at arms length to look at her properly. "You are ok aren't you?" 

"I'm fine," she said.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," Michael said, pulling her close again.

"How long was I…in there?" she asked him.

"Too long," he said vaguely. "Do you remember anything from before?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry Mon, we have a lifetime to make more memories," he said.

"She didn't chose yet," Pete said. Chandler was thinking the same thing, but stayed silent. He was watching his hands twisting in his lap. 

"What? Mon, surely you can't want to go back into the Dream Chamber!" She shook her head. "Then that's it, you chose to come home with me."

"What about Chandler?" Monica asked, touching Chandler's shoulder lightly. 

"Look, I don't know what he is to you, but Blanking can't be worse than dying can it?" 

"I guess," she agreed uncertainly.

"Right then, you will both be given drugs that make you forget your experience here," Pete said. Monica was suddenly sad that she would have no memory of Chandler.

"Do you have to?" she asked. Pete nodded.

"Are you ok sweetie?" Michael asked, kissing Monica's cheek.

"It just seems like everything is happening so fast," she said.

"We can leave everything for a couple of days if you want," Pete offered. "It doesn't affect me, so long as we don't wait too long. You can talk things over with your husband some more, find out about your real self."

"I want to be able to talk to Chandler as well," she insisted. Pete looked like he was about to say no, Michael squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of his wife wanting another man, Chandler tried hard to keep his face impassive.

"Whatever. Be back here in 48 hours," Pete shrugged. Chandler looked up surprised. 

"Thank you," Monica said politely.

"You can all stay in Michael's room," Pete said, he turned to his computer, and the three of them realised he was finished with them for the time being. Michael led the way out of Pete's office and along the corridors of The Dark to his room. Monica and Chandler followed in silence. Michael's room was larger and more comfortable than Chandler's, but it was still pretty sparsely furnished.

"Monica, you have the bed, I'll sleep in the chair," Michael said, pointing to the single bed. Chandler assumed he was to sleep on the floor. He didn't really mind; he would rather sleep on Michael's floor than go back alone to his own room. Monica nodded and sat nervously on the bed. She was exhausted, the meeting with Pete had been too much for her, as weak as she was just out of the Dream Chamber. "Go to sleep Monica," Michael said tenderly, guiding her shoulders down so she lay on the bed. "Chandler and I will look out for you," he promised. Monica tiredly wriggled under the covers, let Michael tuck her in and kiss her goodnight as though she was a little kid. Chandler was still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, but he approached the bed, squeezed Monica's hand and lightly kissed her forehead. "Will it bother you if we leave the light on?" Michael asked. Chandler froze, he was suddenly terrified of being plunged into darkness.

"No," she murmured, half asleep already, allowing Chandler to breath again.

 Michael and Chandler waited in silence until they were both sure Monica was fast asleep. Chandler sat on the floor next to the bed, Michael in the chair opposite. Suddenly, Michael spoke up, in a quiet, slightly sad voice.

"Monica dreamed about you didn't she?" he asked.

"Yes," Chandler answered.

"How much do you know about your **real** history with her?" 

"Not much. I've… had a few dreams of memories, but I don't remember anything much from before I came to The Dark."

"You were friends for years," Michael explained briefly. "You were best friends, you lived in apartments across the hall from one another. Then Monica's brother got married in London, where you got together. At first it was just sex, then you fell in love. A year later you moved in together, then another year later you proposed. Three years after you first got together, you got married." Chandler listened closely to Michael's pained voice. It almost sounded as though he was jealous, but Michael couldn't be jealous of him surely! For one thing, it was Michael who Monica would leave here with! "Monica never liked talking about you, even years later, while we were married, the memories of you were still raw and painful for her."

"What happened? Why did we break up?" Chandler asked softly. He hated that Michael knew more about it than he himself did. Michael sighed.

"Ok, she was pregnant when you guys got married right?" Chandler nodded. "She lost the baby about a month after the wedding." Chandler stared at Michael in shock.

"Oh my god, poor Mon!" he gasped.

"Yeah, well, she doesn't ever say much about it, but I know she was devastated." Michael paused, then continued, with a glance at the bed to check Monica was still asleep. "She miscarried my child too, and I know how desperately she wanted kids. Anyway, I think after that you guys just kinda drifted apart. She was depressed, she felt like you weren't there for her. I'm not saying you weren't," he added quickly, seeing Chandler's hurt expression, "Just that she didn't see it that way. You separated, but you only moved across the hall, and you tried to continue as friends."

"Like Ross and Rachel," Chandler murmured, although the names meant little more than a flicker of familiarity to him. 

"Yeah. Only you guys had everything much worse." Michael had been told about Ross and Rachel; it was the topic Monica usually diverted him with when he probed her about her own past. "You tried again a couple of times, but it never worked out, the longest it lasted was a few months."

"Where'd you come in?" Chandler asked. He didn't want to hear about how much he had hurt Monica in the past. He was sure he'd never have wanted to hurt her, he still didn't; but he obviously had.

"I met her at a group counselling session for new divorcees. My wife left me for my secretary," Michael said. He used to blush whenever he told people that, but now there was enough time, distance and detachment for him to say it calmly and not to smack Chandler when he snorted with laughter. 

"Sorry," Chandler said uselessly.

"Anyway, I'm thinking you don't wanna hear all the details of mine and Monica's marriage, so I guess that's it," Michael said. 

"Was what Mr Becker said true? About her thinking you raped her?" Chandler asked, not quite meeting Michael's eye. A pained expression crossed Michael's face and he nodded. "Did you?" Chandler almost whispered. Michael suddenly looked angry.

"Of course I didn't! I could never hurt her!" he insisted. 

"Why would she think you did?" Chandler asked. 

"What's it matter to you? You'll be blanked in a couple of days and you won't know about any of it anymore!" Michael snapped. Chandler shrugged and looked prepared to drop the subject. But Michael apparently wasn't. "Earlier that day I'd grabbed her arm, harder than I meant to, I admit, but I was scared half to death! She hadn't come home till late, which isn't at all like her," he explained. "And she had nightmares, awful nightmares, and I think she must have dreamed someone was raping her or attacking her or something, because she was screaming, even worse than usual. I broke the door down into the bedroom," catching Chandler's eye Michael grinned wryly, "Yup, separate bedrooms. And I tripped over something on the floor and kinda fell on top of her. She got kinda mixed up, and with all the other shit that was going on for her, she ran off, ended up here, I guess you know the rest." Michael sighed. He had gone over the story in his head a thousand times, and in a way it felt good to tell someone else. 

"Some of the technicians here really did rape her," Chandler offered, not knowing how to comfort Michael.

"I know," he said angrily. Chandler blushed. He wished he hadn't said anything, surely now Michael would question him about his own role in that. "Hey, Pete showed me the tapes of the night you were there." Chandler fidgeted with his shirt and refused to look at Michael. "I'm not mad at you, and if it helps, I don't think Mon would be either."

"Yeah well, I'm mad at me."

"It wasn't your fault."

Their unlikely male bonding session was interrupted by a groan from the bed. Rubbing her eyes, Monica sat up and squinted at them. Her hair was dishevelled, but her brief nap had put a little colour into her ghostly complexion, and she smiled weakly at Chandler and Michael.

"Hey," she said sleepily.

"Hey, you should be sleeping," Michael said, getting up and trying to get her to lie down again. Monica pushed him away.

"Don't fuss," she told him. "What's going on?"

"We're just talking," Michael said. Chandler was strangely shy around Monica now.

"About me?"

"Mostly," Michael said with a smile. "But we've more or less covered that subject now." 

"Do we have a new subject?" Monica asked smiling slightly. Michael sat next to her on the bed and gestured for Chandler to edge closer to them.

"We have to get out of here," he whispered. Monica and Chandler stared at him with wide eyes.

"You two **are **getting out of here in two days time," Chandler said bitterly.

"And you don't wanna get out too?" Michael challenged. "Look, you got Mon out of the Dream Chamber, you should at least get to escape The Dark yourself. And I don't particularly want me or Monica to be forced to forget this whole thing either."

"Why would you do that for me?" Chandler asked suspiciously. Michael worked for Pete, maybe this was some elaborate set up." Why make everything a million times harder for yourself?"

"For Monica," Michael answered. Monica put a hand on Michael's arm, so touched that she couldn't manage to speak.

"So what are we gonna do?" Chandler asked. He was unable to put the depth of his gratitude into words, so he didn't bother to even try. He would have plenty of time to ponder exactly the right words if and when the three of them were safely away from The Dark.

"The proper staff members, like me, are not kept prisoner like you two were. We can leave for two days a month, but if anyone finds out we work here, they're killed and so are we. Anyway, I bought these on one of my days off." Michael showed them their escape route. Chandler's face crept into a smile and Monica's cheeks flushed with excitement. 


	4. Remember everything when only memory rem...

Reality is Wrong, Chapter 5 

_AN: Ok chaps, last chapter! Thanks for your reviews for this and Have You Ever, they make me smile :-) Remember I still don't own the characters. Dedicated to Sarah W, who won't read it, but still, its her 18th birthday, I figure she deserves it ;-) Please leave a  review, this chapter is a lot less confusing than the previous ones! _

"The gun is for Pete. I know its not strictly necessary, but if we can get rid of him, it'll make our lives a hell of a lot easier later. And I want the pleasure of putting a bullet in the bastard's head," Michael said.

"What's that?" Monica asked, pointing to a black cylindrical tube. 

"A powerful sleeping draught. It's a gas, so if we put it in the air conditioning unit it'll spread all over the building within minutes. Everyone from the lowliest slave to Pete Becker himself will be sleeping like babies."

"Where the hell did you get all this?" Chandler asked, impressed.

"And why?" Monica added. She was surprised to be married to a guy who was prepared to arm himself with things like this.

"You'd be surprised at what you can find in New York City. One of the technicians used to be a hit man, knows all about this kind off stuff," he said nonchalantly. Chandler and Monica looked shocked. "And I got it because I thought maybe one day I'd do what Chandler did, get you out of there."

"What about the others like me? Can we get them out too?" Monica asked.

"No Mon. It wouldn't be safe for them anyway, and it'd take too long," Michael said gently.

"How long do we have anyway?" Chandler asked.

"Once I set this off," Michael said, pointing to the sleeping draught, "maybe 10 minutes for it to work, the I don't know, it depends how diluted it gets. I want us out of here as quickly as possible though."

"Then what?" Monica asked.

"Then we get as far away from here as possible before we even think about anything further into the future."

"When are we gonna do it?" Chandler asked. He wanted to do it straight away. He had more to lose if they waited longer and then for some reason didn't get a chance.

Michael checked his watch. "We have about 42 of our 48 hours left. You two get some sleep, proper sleep, then when we're all rested we'll do it. Tomorrow," Michael decided.

"What time is it now?" Monica asked.

"About eleven thirty at night. Now Mon, sleep!" he commanded, "You too Chandler."

"Are you gonna keep watch?" Monica asked.

"No, we'll be perfectly safe tonight," Michael said confidently. "Pete wouldn't dream of doing anything. He'll expect us to stay quiet for a couple of days, then for me and Mon to get the hell out of here the easy way. As far as he's concerned, Chandler's half dead already and couldn't do anything on his own anyway."

"I got Monica out on my own," Chandler muttered defensively.

"I know, but I think Pete's also relying on me to stop you doing anything else, for Monica's sake. Pete knows how much I love her." Michael glanced at Monica who was smiling sleepily. She took his hand and squeezed it, before rolling onto her side to sleep again.

The following morning, Michael woke early as he was used to doing. He didn't have to work, but he scribbled a note to Chandler and Monica and crept out of the room. Monica didn't wake up until around noon, but when she did, she heard Chandler and Michael talking excitedly about their plans. When he noticed that she was awake, Michael kissed Monica's cheek affectionately. Chandler looked on jealously. He felt slightly resentful; he hadn't done all that and got himself in very serious danger just so Monica could live happily ever after with her husband. 

All day, the three of them were on edge. Michael didn't want to discuss the details all over again, but he was obviously brooding about them. Chandler was excited about getting out of The Dark, but he was irrationally afraid Michael would give up on the plan and go along with Pete's plan. Monica was nervous and spent most of the day asking Michael to tell her things about their life together before all this, which gave both of them some comfort, but infuriated Chandler.

At around six thirty pm, just as many of the technicians were going for their dinner break, Michael handed face masks to Chandler and Monica and put one on himself, so the three of them wouldn't be affected by the drug along with everyone else. They had soon grown used to Michael producing such random, useful things and now simply did as he told them, since Michael obviously knew was he was doing. It was Chandler who climbed up into the ventilation shaft in Michael's room and placed the tube. Holding his breath nervously, he set it off. After about ten minutes, Michael hurried to the cafeteria to check what was happening, and laughed aloud when he saw all the sleeping staff. He ran back to Chandler and Monica and made them follow him. Michael had wanted to kill Pete on his own, but Chandler had fiercely insisted on at least being there, and Monica, still shaken from her ordeal, didn't want to be left alone.

"Come on, quickly," Michael said, leading the way to Pete's office. He held the gun, while Chandler held Monica's hand. The three of them entered Pete's office cautiously, Michael first. For no reason that the others could see, he stopped short halfway through the door and Chandler nearly crashed into him.

"Run, get her out," Michael hissed.

Pete was awake. The drug hadn't worked. The plan hadn't worked. They were ruined. Chandler grabbed Monica's arm just below her elbow and trued to back out of the door. To his dismay, Monica grabbed Michael's shirt, trying to get him to come too. Michael shook her off and pulled out the gun. Pete must have been expecting this, because before Michael could do anything, there was the bang of a shot being fired, and Michael was hit in the leg from a gun hidden below the desk. Monica screamed. Chandler tried to pull her behind him and drag her away but she clung stubbornly to Michael.

"Come **ON!" **Chandler shouted, prizing her fingers off Michael's shirt. Monica wrenched herself free of Chandler's grip. She looked at Pete. He was watching her and Chandler, not sure what to expect from them. Chandler never knew why Pete did nothing as he watched Monica dark forward and grab Michael's gun. Michael mumbled for her to just run away, but she ignored him.

"You won't do it," Pete said confidently. "I gave you everything you wanted. Its not my fault you ruined it for yourself." Chandler was shaking, but Monica stood firm and calm.

"I **will** do it," she said quietly And she fired. As soon as she did, Pete pulled his own gun out from under his desk and attempted to retaliate. Chandler held his breath, closed his eyes and covered his ears. Pete's yell of agony as he was hit in the shoulder penetrated Chandler's hands into his ears, but he heard no matching cry of pain from Monica. Three more shots were fired, but each time, it was Pete who screamed.

"Holy shit Mon!" Michael exclaimed. Chandler risked opening his eyes and uncovering his ears. Pete looked dead. Monica was still holding the gun and aiming it at him, but her hand was shaking now. Michael was on the floor, clutching his leg, but he looked at Monica in awe. "I never knew you could shoot like that!"

"I killed him?" she asked quietly. None of them wanted to move close enough to check.

"I think so," Michael said uncertainly.

"Chandler, go see if he's breathing," Monica whispered.

"Me? Why me?" Chandler asked, scared.

"Just do it," Michael snapped.

"You know what, lets not bother. He probably is dead."

"You really wanna leave here not knowing 100% that he is? You wanna spend the rest of your life afraid he might not be?" Michael said.

"I'll do it," Monica volunteered. She edged slightly closer to Pete. Seeing her so scared and vulnerable, yet doing it anyway, Chandler found the courage to follow. They held hands like small children as they inched towards him. Chandler took hold of one limp wrist and felt for a pulse, while Monica held her trembling hand in front of Pete's face to see if he was breathing.

"He's dead," Monica said, relief overwhelming her. Chandler dropped Pete's hand and wrapped his arms around Monica.

"He's dead," he agreed happily. They turned back to Michael, as if to ask 'now what?' Michael sighed and leaned heavily against the doorframe.

"Can you walk?" Monica asked.

"I don't know, help me up." Chandler and Monica crouched on either side of him and heaved Michael to his feet. He groaned in pain, but wouldn't allow them to let him sink back to the floor.

"I don't think you've lost too much blood. You were lucky," Monica said. 

"We all were," Michael agreed. Monica smiled at him. Chandler stared blankly at a spot on the wall, wanting to ignore the tenderness between them.

With the others helping Michael as much as possible, they mad painfully slow progress towards the front door. Michael opened it with his swipe card, and they stood in the doorway for a moment, blinking in the bright sunshine and breathing in the dust and smoke of the city as eagerly as if it were clean country air.

They were free.

* * * * *

A month later, Chandler, Monica and Michael had moved into an apartment together in Los Angeles. Michael had told them that they would be safe wherever they went, since Pete was dead and none of the other staff at The Dark would care enough to bother them, but Chandler had said he would feel much safer away from New York. So they'd moved thousands of miles to the other side of the country. Michael's leg had been treated and as Monica had said, he'd been lucky enough not to have suffered any major damage from the gun shot wound. 

Six months after they got free, Monica was working as a sous chef at a small family restaurant, Chandler was working for a large multi-national corporation, data processing as he used to, but he found it was much more enjoyable when you had something like The Dark to compare it to. Michael had found a management job in a different office, and the sum of all their salaries had enabled them to move to a three bedroom apartment. In their old two bedroom apartment, Chandler and Michael had shared a room with 2 twin beds, but the arrangement hadn't suited any of them. In their new apartment, they were all, on the surface at least, much happier. Monica sensed the rivalry between the two men, however hard they tried to hide it. She felt sorry for Chandler, because most of the time, it was Michael who 'won', leaving Chandler feeling like a schoolboy who was trying to compete with a grown man. Michael was the least affected by his time at The Dark, and the most keen to move on and put it behind them.

One Friday night, they had ordered pizza, rented a horror movie, and were sitting around in their living room drinking and relaxing. Monica was sat in between Michael and Chandler on the couch. When the killer appeared on screen brandishing a knife, the guys jumped violently and Monica screamed and hid her face in Michael's shoulder. When the scene was over, Monica sat back in the middle again without giving it another thought. Chandler sat stiffly, brooding about their living arrangement. He had no idea how long it was going to stay like this and he felt ready to strike against it, against Michael, even against Monica.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed," Chandler announced as soon as the end credits started to roll. 

"Night Chandler," Monica said, kissing his cheek affectionately.

"Night," Michael said as Chandler went into his bedroom. "You wanna watch another movie?" he asked Monica. "There's probably a porno on one of the cable channels."

It was a sign of how drunk she was that Monica only giggled. "No, no, no porn."

"Well then looks like its either the movie we just watched again, or see if there's something on TV, cause we didn't rent anymore movies."

"You just wanna channel hop and find the porn!" Monica teased. Michael laughed.

"What do you want from me, I've had no sex in a **long** time!" he tried to sound like he was joking, but Monica wasn't sure he was. She blushed. Michael flicked through the channels for a while, before deciding there was nothing worth watching on. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said eventually, without looking at her. "I miss my wife, that's all."

"I'm not going anywhere," Monica said, also not looking up as she spoke.

"I know you're not. Its just… I knew things would be different, especially with Chandler living with us. But we're like friends Mon, not like husband and wife. I miss that."

"I'm sorry. But I have to get to know you all over again, and its hard and its such a weird situation we're in…" Monica trailed off.

"I know, and I'm not trying to rush you or anything, I'm just, sexually frustrated I guess," he said, with a smile.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed," Monica said, ending the conversation. Michael sighed and nodded.

"Sweet dreams," he told her. Michael stood up and followed her to her bedroom door. Monica turned and looked at him questioningly, but before she could speak, Michael kissed her softly. As his lips brushed hers, he waited for any sign of resistance, but Monica closed her eyes and kissed him back. It was so long since she had felt anything like this. Tentatively, his hands went around her waist and drew her closer. Monica let herself be held like that for a little while, but when Michael's hands slid up to gently cup her breasts through her top, she pushed him away and stepped back. Without a word and without looking at him, she went into her bedroom. Michael didn't even attempt to follow, he just went back to the couch to flick through the channels again.

Monica lay on her bed fully clothed, staring up at the ceiling trying to think. She knew she could trust Michael. He loved her, and whenever she was with him, she felt a sense that she had loved him too. But she felt the same way about Chandler, who also loved her. She didn't miss his jealous glances as Michael touched her hand while they were all sitting together or when she smiled at Michael first when she came into a room. Monica sighed. Michael wasn't the only one who wanted things to go back to normal, but she wasn't sure what normal was. 

The next morning, Monica lingered in her bedroom for as long as possible, wanting to avoid Michael. When she had to come out to get ready for work, she marched towards the bathroom, but found Chandler was in there. Shouting at him to hurry up so she could shower, Monica noticed Michael watching her from the couch. Sighing loudly, she moved to the kitchen to make herself some toast. Michael followed her, making her jump as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"Don't," she said irritably.

"Sorry, I just…"

"I know, I'm sorry," she said, smoothing her forehead in a nervous gesture. "Look, I'm confused I guess, just give me some time to think about what I want, ok?"

"Sure, Mon, whatever you want," he said, kissing her just below her ear.

"Doing that is not giving me time," Monica said, but she couldn't help smiling.

"Sorry," he said, stepping away from her and holding his hands up in a 'sorry' gesture. Monica smiled at him, before turning back to her breakfast, obviously assuming they were done talking about it. 

"Bathrooms free," Chandler called, exiting it with just a towel wrapped around his waist. 

"Great, thanks," Michael said, rushing in, laughing at Monica's annoyed expression before he shut the door. Monica sighed.

"What's up with you?" Chandler asked.

"Why does everything have to be so damn complicated? Why is nothing simple for me?" she asked, looking at Chandler as though he had all the answers.

"Wow, that's a pretty deep question for this time in the morning! And there was me thinking you were just pissed cause Michael got in the bathroom before you," Chandler said. Monica smiled. In the last six months, he had become more like the Chandler she had dreamed about. He was still scarred from his experience at The Dark, but the time away from it had taught him to be more open and happier.

 "Sorry," she said, smiling slightly.

"You ok?" Chandler asked. Resisting the automatic urge to smile, nod and assure him she was fine, Monica merely shrugged. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"You want a 'feel better' hug?" Monica smiled and nodded. With Chandler's arms around her, Monica felt safe. She remembered how he had risked everything to get her out of the Dream Chamber and away from The Dark. Monica felt like she could stay there in his embrace forever, but she was conscious that Chandler might begin to wonder what was wrong if she didn't let go soon. Reluctantly she stepped out of his arms. As she smiled gratefully at him, Monica thought she saw Chandler looking at her the exact same way Michael had the night before.

"All yours Mon," Michael called cheerfully, as he came out of the bathroom. Monica met Chandler's gaze for a moment, then turned and went into the bathroom.

Monica needed to talk to someone. She needed an impartial, concerned girlfriend who could tell her what to do. But there was no one at work who she could trust enough to tell them everything, and without knowing everything, they wouldn't have been able to even begin to understand how complicated everything was. And apart from the people at work, the only people Monica knew were Michael and Chandler, and talking to either of them about it was not an option.

When Monica got home she found Chandler and Michael in the living room arguing. She sighed. She was tired and stressed and just wanted to flop on the couch and relax, possibly even with one or both guys taking care of her. 

"Well, she was fine when I went to bed, and when I saw her this morning she was upset about **something**." Chandler shouted. Monica sighed and blushed when she realised they were fighting about her.

"Maybe she had a bad dream," Michael suggested with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't even joke about it!" Chandler warned.

"Ok, fine, but I don't see why you're blaming me, just cause Mon was in a mood."

"Because you're the only person she'd seen!" 

"So? I suppose it couldn't possibly just be that she's not a morning person?" Michael said. Chandler made a disbelieving noise. "I didn't do anything ok? What do you take me for? I love her for God's sake!"

"She doesn't love you," Chandler argued.

"She kissed me!" Michael crowed.

"She kissed you or you kissed her?"

"Is that any of your business?"

"I care about her!"

"So do I!"

"She was upset, I'm just worried about Monica here!"

"Well don't be ok?!" Monica said, announcing her presence for the first time. Both Chandler and Michael turned to look at her, startled. "What the hell are you doing, talking about me behind my back?" 

"Mon, I was just-" Chandler started to say.

"He started it," Michael accused childishly.

"Would you two listen to yourselves? You're fighting over me as if I were a favourite toy and you were both about 5 years old!" Monica shouted.

"Sorry Mon," Chandler said.

"Yeah, sorry," Michael said.

Monica ignored them both and went past them into her bedroom. Once the door was closed, she threw herself onto the bed and hit the pillow in frustration. She wasn't trying to cause trouble between Chandler and Michael, but if she was honest, she should have seen it coming. Right from the first day in The Dark there had been a tension between the two men, and she knew that, through no fault of her own, she was the cause. Sighing she sat up again. It wasn't her fault they were both in love with her, or claimed to be. Why did she feel so guilty about Chandler knowing she and Michael had kissed? They were still married, regardless of the fact that she remembered nothing of their life together before all this. She and Chandler were divorced. She was perfectly within her rights to kiss her husband, but when she thought about Chandler, kissing Michael seemed wrong for some reason. Chandler and Michael glared at one another when Monica had gone, then they went into their bedrooms as well.

A few hours later, Chandler heard a knock on his bedroom door. He wasn't sure whether or not to answer, in case it was Michael wanting to continue their argument or something, but in the end he did, and was relieved to see it was Monica standing there, wearing pj pants and a vest top.

"Can I come in?" she asked. She didn't sound or look angry. Chandler nodded.

"Mon, I'm sorry."

"Shhh, I'm not mad about it anymore," she assured him. "I just wanted to explain what happened between me and Michael."

"Oh," was all Chandler said. He sat down on the edge of his bed and watched Monica pace back and forth in front of him, wringing her hands as she spoke.

"Michael kissed me," she said, "but I kissed him back. He is my husband," she excused herself.

"I know," Chandler said. "Do you love him?"

Monica was thrown by the question, but a minute later she answered. "I don't know."

"Do you love me?" he whispered. There was a long silence. Chandler took this to mean she didn't and was trying to think of a tactful way to break it to him.

"I think so," she said at last. Chandler looked at her properly and met her eyes. She seemed scared by her admission, but he was only happy and stupidly hopeful.

"I love you, you know. So much," he told her. Monica finally stopped pacing.

"I know," she said.

Monica walked slowly towards him. Chandler watched her silently. He knew she was confused and being torn in two different directions, and he wanted to let her decide what, if anything, happened. As she approached him, Chandler opened his arms and let her walk into them. They just hugged. After a while, Monica pulled back. Tugging gently on Chandler's arms, she got him to stand up too. 

"You can kiss me now," she whispered. So he did. Her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands played in her dark hair. Monica sank into the kiss, it felt so much better than kissing Michael had, and guilt over that fact disappeared within seconds as Chandler's tongue moved into her mouth. Chandler didn't ever want to stop kissing her, but Monica eventually pushed him gently away. Afraid of the rejection he was convinced was inevitable, Chandler tried not to look at her. Smiling, Monica lifted his face to look at her. She kissed his nose affectionately. Seeing her smiling at him like that, Chandler began to think maybe she wasn't going to reject him after all. Monica slid her top over her head, still looking at Chandler. 

"You don't have to do this Mon," Chandler said. He tried not to look at her breasts, but he couldn't help himself. She hadn't stopped smiling, despite his staring.

"Neither do you," she said. Her hands were on the waistband of her pj pants, but she looked to Chandler as if for permission to remove them.

"If you're sure," he said softly. Monica nodded.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't." Chandler raised an eyebrow. When he had asked her, she had only said she **thought **she loved him, not for sure. 

"What about Michael?"

"What about him?"

"As you just said, he's still your husband."

"Can't we forget that for tonight?"

"I just don't want you to change your mind tomorrow," he explained.

"I won't," Monica promised.

Chandler waited an agonizing moment while he tried to decide if it was worth the risk. In the end, he couldn't resist her. He was stupid to ever think he stood a chance. He put his hands over Monica's and helped her slide her pj pants down. She only wore a thong underneath. 

"I think you're wearing too many clothes," Monica told him. Chandler pulled his sweat pants and t-shirt off as quickly as he could, so he was standing in only boxers. Monica nervously put her hand down the front of his boxers. Grinning, he kissed her and pulled her down onto the bed with him.

In the morning, Monica woke up feeling secure and happy. Feeling Chandler's arms around her, and his naked body against hers made her smile at the memory of the night before. Their sex had been slow, gentle and loving, and afterwards, they just lay their together stroking one another's satisfied bodies, reunited after an absence that was too long for both of them. She turned over in Chandler's arms, and the movement woke him up. Chandler couldn't imagine any better way to wake up than with Monica's beaming face just inches from his own.

"Morning beautiful," he said, kissing her lightly.

"Hi," she smiled back at him.

"You wanna think about getting up?"

"No, I want to think about having sex with you again."

"Just think about it? Okay," Chandler joked, lying back on the pillow and closing his eyes.

"Well, no," Monica giggled. She pushed the covers down so they were both exposed from the waist upwards, and began kissing his chest, letting her breasts press against his side. Chandler grinned, and when she moved up to his face for a kiss, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both over so he was lying on top of her. 

Michael was surprised when he woke up and found no evidence that either Chandler or Monica had got up yet. He was pretty sure they were both supposed to be working, and he had overslept himself. Thinking they must have done the same thing, he knocked on Monica's bedroom door to wake her up.

"Mon! Mon wake up, its nearly 8 o'clock," he called. There was no answer. Rolling his eyes at her ability to go from chronic insomniac to being able to sleep through anything, Michael pushed her door open. He frowned in surprise when he saw Monica wasn't in her room, and her bed hadn't been slept in. Michael decided he might as well wake Chandler up before worrying about Monica, Chandler might know where she was, and if not, he could help look. 

Inside Chandler's bedroom, neither of them had been disturbed by Michael banging on Monica's door, but when he knocked on Chandler door, shouting for him to wake up, both Chandler and Monica froze. Hearing her husband's voice while she gave Chandler a blow job horrified her. She looked at Chandler who felt his heart sink when he saw her expression. He was convinced Michael's voice had made her realise what she had done, what she was still doing, and what a huge mistake it all was.

"Chandler!" Michael shouted again. Monica and Chandler hastily began to sort themselves out.

"What?" Chandler called back, hoping that some form of acknowledgement from him would prevent Michael entering the room. 

"Thank God, do you know where Monica is? I'm worried about her."

Chandler looked at Monica trying not to laugh at the strange awfulness of the situation. Monica didn't share his amusement. Chandler tried desperately to think of a suitable answer.

"I'm sure she's fine," he said.

"Chandler, she probably went off last night, her bed hasn't been slept in, do you really want to think about her wandering round LA on her own all night?" Michael said impatiently.

Chandler ummed and ahhed for a few seconds while Monica looked panicky. Michael quickly got frustrated and opened the door.

"Look, Chandler-" he began. Then he saw Monica. She stared at him, not knowing what to say. "Monica," he said in a strangled voice. "Obviously you're perfectly fine. I'll just leave you two to it."

"Michael, wait!" Monica said, but he ignored her and slammed the door behind him. "Oh God Chandler," Monica said, turning to him, "What the hell do we do now?"

"Its ok, Mon," he reassured her.

"How is it?" Chandler shrugged. Monica made an exasperated noise and got out of bed. She quickly started to get dressed. Chandler sat still and watched her, earning himself a glare from her. Without saying another word to Chandler, she exited the bedroom. "Michael, please talk to me," she said when Michael looked up from his breakfast as she came in.

"I have nothing to say."

"Well I do."

"I don't want to hear it Mon. Look, I'm not angry with you for sleeping him while you're married to me. I wouldn't even class it as cheating on me. I know you don't automatically feel the same way as you did before you went into The Dark, I know that Monica," Michael said.

"So why are you angry, or whatever you are?"

"Because I was stupid enough to allow myself to think maybe you could love me again."

"I'm sorry Michael," Monica said honestly.

"Do you love Chandler?"

"I think so." She gave him the same answer she had given Chandler the night before.

"If he wasn't here, do you think maybe you might have loved me?" Michael asked. Monica smiled gently at him.

"Whatever I say, its only going to hurt you," she said. Michael nodded sadly.

"I'm gonna move out as soon as I can. You guys will probably want to move too, to somewhere smaller; you won't need three bedrooms."

"You don't have to move out."

"Yes, I do. I can't watch my wife falling in love with someone she loved long before she ever loved me."

"I'm so sorry. I know this whole thing, The Dark and everything afterwards, has been hard on you too."

"Yeah," he sighed. "It'd have been easier if I just went along with Pete and not tried to play the hero," he said bitterly. Monica kissed his cheek tenderly.

"You did the right thing. Chandler and I will never be able to thank you enough for what you did. I'm so sorry you lost out in the end." Michael nodded. He hugged her hard, clinging on to her as if that could stop her slipping away from him. 

"I have to go to work," he said eventually. Monica nodded and stepped away from him. He kissed her forehead, waved half heartedly, gathered his things and left the apartment. Monica began to absentmindedly clear away the remains of Michael's breakfast. Hearing the front door close, Chandler poked his head out of the bedroom.

"Is it safe to come out?" he asked. Monica nodded. Chandler emerged wearing sweats. He crossed the room and put his arms around Monica, who leaned against him.

"He was so **sad**," she said. "He wasn't mad, not at me anyway. He was just sad." Chandler lifted her face up towards him and kissed her.

"He'll be ok Mon."

"You think so?"

"Of course he will. He knew things wouldn't be the same as before you went to The Dark, he knew that from that start."

"Knowing something and believing it are two different things." Chandler was quiet. He let her rest in his arms for as long as she wanted to. "We should go to work too," she said eventually, stepping away from him. Chandler pulled her back towards him.

"We're already late, why don't we both just call in sick?" he suggested.

"And spend the day in bed, I suppose?" she snapped, pushing him away angrily.

"If you insist," Chandler said, trying to kiss her, but she wouldn't let him.

"I'm not in the mood."

"Obviously."

"Just leave me alone, ok?"

"We didn't even get to finish," he mumbled grumpily. Monica glared at him.

"Michael saved your life," she reminded him.

"Oh, so that means I can never sleep with you, ever again, in case his feelings get hurt?" Chandler said sarcastically.

"Oh, don't be stupid."

"You promised you wouldn't change your mind," Chandler said sounding hurt. Monica sighed and her expression softened.

"Chandler, I haven't changed my mind about you. I'm just upset about hurting Michael, because he doesn't deserve it. But I still want to be with you," she told him.

"Really?" Chandler asked, a smile beginning to form.

"You wanna know if I'm sure?" Monica asked, smiling. She loved towards him again and kissed him. Her words sent a shiver down Chandler's spine; they sounded strangely familiar. "But for now, I'm going to work. And so are you." Chandler sighed, but his disappointment was mostly for show. He kissed her once more before releasing her.

* * * * *

Michael moved out a month later, into a small studio apartment. Although he and Chandler were hardly friends, Monica met up with him for coffee or lunch as often as she could. She felt so guilty about how things had turned out, but Michael always put a brave face on it and told her not to worry about him. The day she got the divorce papers in the mail Monica cried, and could not explain to Chandler why she was so upset. The divorce was friendly enough, but it just seemed such a shame that it had to happen; it wasn't Michael's fault that The Dark had made her forget their life together. She would never forget what he had done for her, but in the time since she and Chandler had been together, she knew she couldn't make things work with Michael now; she wanted Chandler, she **needed **Chandler. He seemed to complete some part of her that no one else could, because he was special. 

Chandler and Monica got married in May, on the anniversary of what Michael told them had been their wedding the first time round. It was just a small ceremony at a registry office, with Michael as best man (somewhat reluctantly), and a woman from Monica's work as the other witness. They went to London for their honeymoon, hoping to revive some of the memories they had both lost. 

* * * * *

Monica had a dream. 

She was making love to Chandler. They were both moaning as he moved inside her, and his hands stroked her breasts while she clung to him and pushed herself up to meet his demanding thrusts. Chandler kissed her passionately. She opened her eyes as the kiss ended, and her world flickered, and it was Michael on top of her. It was Michael's seed that burst into her like poison. Michael slumped on top of her carelessly, his head resting on her shoulder, face turned away from her. Monica felt another flicker. The man still resting inside her was suddenly hard again, and he rammed himself into her. Monica screamed. It was Pete who turned to face her, Pete who was hurting her, Pete who was tearing her deep insider, Pete who planted hard biting kisses on her unwilling mouth. She struggled, but the more she tried to free herself, the heavier Pete seemed to become, until she could hardly breath because his weight pressed down so hard on her chest. Not just her chest, her throat was tight. His hands were closing around her neck. Pete grunted as he thrust into her one last time, harder than ever. Having got all the perverse pleasure out of her that he could, he completed the task of strangling her.

THE END


End file.
